


Last of the Line of Durin

by Ralph_E_Silvering



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-15 09:52:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3442748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralph_E_Silvering/pseuds/Ralph_E_Silvering
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas has lost his best friend. Dis has lost her entire family. Both of them thought that this was the end, but instead, it is a new beginning. Includes a young Aragorn Estel</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vigil for the Dwarf King

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story will be uploaded in probably about fifteen chapters, hopefully all before the new movie comes out! I own none of the characters except for Eliriel, but please give her a chance. She’s a crossover from another story, but here she’s younger. If you like her, I might write a prequel to this story featuring her and Thorin. Let me know what you think. This takes place directly after the Battle of the Five Armies. Thorin, Kili, Tauriel and Fili are all dead.  
> The main characters of this story will be Legolas, Dis, Aragorn and Eliriel.
> 
> Also, the beginning of this was written before Battle of the Five Armies came out, so any differences are due to that. I've tried to bring it closer to the movie in the more recent chapters, and the end result should be quite similar except for Aragorn & Legolas' first meeting.

After the Battle was over, and the Elves had wept and the Dwarves had sung their lamentations, the armies of Thranduil and Dain Ironfoot placed the bodies of Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews, Fili and Kili, in a small antechamber off of the Hall of Kings in the mountain of Erebor, while they awaited burial as soon as their final resting place was complete.

The Dwarven princes had died defending their mother’s brother, and much was the lamentation at the loss of not only their king, but of his heirs as well.

King Thranduil, solemn and remote and stern, had given permission for the body of Tauriel, the Captain of his Guard, to rest next to that of Kili’s, for the elf had died fighting beside the dwarf prince, and she had loved the young warrior of another race as deeply as he had loved her. King Tranduil had known it – the rest of the Guard had known it – and no matter what any of them thought, they understood and respected the king’s choice to leave their Captain under the stone, surrounded by dwarves.

Legolas had not left the side of his departed friend since he had watched her fall on the Battlefield. He had been too far away, helpless to get to her as Azog and Bolg and their elite guard surrounded Thorin Oakenshield and isolated him from the rest of the dwarves. Fili and Kili had fought through to their Uncle’s side, and Tauriel had gone with them. 

She had been a glorious sight to behold that day, red hair gleaming in the weak sunshine, a fierce light in her eyes, and the blood of her enemies staining her armor. Legolas had fought beside her for most of the Battle, their movements synchronized through years of long practice and similar styles of fighting. But when she had moved away from him in order to fight next to the dwarf Legolas had been shocked and even jealous to notice that she fought as though she was dancing with the short, ugly figure.

Legolas hadn’t made it in time, and he kept reliving her falling, the light in her eyes fading, over and over again.

It was dark in this small antechamber, save for a patch of starlight and moonlight which came down from the night sky through an open vent in the side of the mountain. Tauriel would have loved the starlight.

Legolas sat with his back to Tauriel’s hastily constructed stone tomb, out of sight of the rest of the chamber. The dwarves were hard at work crafting permanent sarcophagus for their king and his nephews, but Thranduil and the new dwarf-king, Dain, were still arguing over where Tauriel was to be buried. 

Legolas wanted her to be buried back in the Woodland Realm, but he suspected she would have wanted someplace high on a hill, under the open sky and beneath the stars. This way she would be able to watch the rising sun and the blood red moon, and she could heard the whispers coming to her on the wind from every corner of Middle Earth. She had always wanted to be a part of the world, not merely watching from a guarded fortress.

But wherever she was buried, he knew that she would have wanted, most of all, to be next to Kili.

It was dark and very late. The dwarves had long since settled in to their rest, and the Elves and Men had long ago retired to their tents that had been erected before the doors of Erebor. The moon was full and bright as it beamed down into the antechamber where the king and his nephews lay in eternal slumber. Sitting on the floor, close together and close to the tombs of their departed friends, were the remnants of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, including Gandalf the Grey and the hobbit, Bilbo Baggins.

And Legolas, prince of Elves, sat in the dark, around the corner, so that he could be near Tauriel, but away from the dwarves – who had not the slightest suspicion of his presence.

He could smell tobacoo smoke from the Wizard, but for the longest time no one spoke.

At last the hobbit – Bilbo – asked a question. He had obviously been looking at his dead friend.

“Why does Thorin wear a small, gold necklace around his throat?” His voice was bemused. “It doesn’t look like it belongs to him.”

The gruff, bald one with all the tattoos – Dwalin, Legolas thought – snorted. “It’s not his.”

The old one, with the long, white beard continued. “Now, you know that’s not really true, brother. She would have wanted him to have it.”

“Who would have wanted him?” Bilbo asked. From his voice, Legolas could tell that the hobbit had moved away from Thorin and was going closer towards Balin and Dwalin.

Another voice picked up the story. Legolas could not tell the identity from voice alone, so he inched slowly across the floor until he was on the opposite side of the corridor and could look down the hall for an excellent view of the antechamber. It looked like the dwarf with the funny hat – Bofur? – who was talking now.

“Haven’t you wondered why Thorin hasn’t said……….” He cleared his throat. “Didn’t say anything at all about Kili’s love for the elf.”

“Tauriel,” said Balin, forcefully. His gaze was stern. “Show some respect. The woman is dead, and died fighting besides our prince.”

Oin and Fili were nodding their agreement.

“Tauriel,” Bofur said. “Everyone noticed. We all knew what was going on. But Thorin didn’t even say a word.”

“And he really didn’t like Elves,” Bilbo agreed, glancing around towards Gandalf the Grey, who was steadily puffing on his pipe and paying the rest of the Company no mind.

“Bunch of prissy jerks,” Dwalin snarled, and Balin started laughing. Sadly.

“That’s exactly what you said about her, in the beginning.” And Legolas was surprised to notice that Dwalin actually looked chastised.

“Who?” Bilbo asked again, looking around and noticing, like Legolas did, that the rest of the Company – except maybe Gandalf, because who could really tell with Wizards – seemed to know exactly what Balin and Dwalin were talking about.

Dwalin cleared his throat. “Thorin…….loved someone once. Only once,” he insisted as though this was somehow a flaw in his departed friend and Dwalin was preparing to defend him from accusations regardless. Bilbo just watched him steadily. “He knew what Kili was going through because……..the person he loved wasn’t acceptable either.”

Bilbo looked back and forth between Dwalin and Bain, then turned to look at Bofur. “Who was it?”

“You have to understand, Bilbo,” Balin took over, gently. “That because there are so few dwarf women, marriage has always been very……..strictly regulated among us. Especially for the Line of Durin. They must marry. There must be heirs. And they must marry dwarven women of good family. Gloin’s wife is a famous beauty. Thrain’s wife was the last offshoot of yet another of the Line of Durin.”

“But Thorin never married. That’s why, Fili was his heir.”

“Yes,” Balin agreed, “his sister’s son. Fili would have had to marry a dwarf woman. Several candidates had already been put forward. But Kili had always resisted it; and he was so young anyway. Everyone thought there would be time. But the dwarves would not have accepted him marrying Tauriel. And he knew it.”

Legolas wanted to speak up and tell them all that the Elves would never have accepted Tauriel marrying Kili either, but he figured it was a moot point. And he kind of figured that Tauriel would have done it anyway.

“So………” Bilbo said, after a moment. “Who did Thorin love, that was so unacceptable the dwarves would not allow him to marry?”

“He loved a human,” Dwalin said, brusquely. “A tiny little slip of a human girl.”

“A woman,” Balin corrected again. “She was no girl.”  
“Looked like one,” Gloin said. “Shorter than Thorin. Slender. Fragile enough that you would think a strong puff of wind would blow her over.”

“Always sick with some kind of illness,” Oin put in. “Always coughing or pale with pain.”

“But with wisdom and stubbornness,” Balin said.

“And a warrior’s heart,” Bofur put in.

Dwalin growled. “Not just a warrior’s heart, a warrior’s skills. She loved sparing with Thorin, and in unarmed combat……..she would have beaten any elf. Even Kili’s Tauriel. I guarantee it.”

“A maid as fair as the moon and as glorious as the sun,” Balin agreed.

There was a pause after this statement as all of the dwarves, Legolas and Bilbo tried to work out what this actually meant. At last Gandalf cleared his throat. “As I remember it, she was a short girl, with pointy features and eyes and hair the color of mud.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it mud……..exactly,” Balin averred.

“She had Kili’s coloring,” Dwalin said.

“No she didn’t,” Gloin disagreed. “Her hair had red in it, like mine.”

“And gold, like Fili,” Bofur put in.

Bilbo interrupted the rising argument before any more time could be spent on something that was, in Legolas’ opinion at least, highly irrelevant. Men all looked the same to him, plain and ungainly, although they weren’t as bad as dwarves. He still had no idea what Tuariel had seen in the departed Kili, although he was willing to concede that they had very similar personalities and world outlooks. Still, there had to have been some type of attraction, although for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what.

“Alright, alright, who actually cares what her exact hair color was,” Bilbo said, waving his arms around and standing up. The argument between the dwarves died out, although not without some grumbling. “So Thorin was in love with a human. And that’s why he didn’t say anything about Tauriel and Kili. Everything’s explained now, thank you.” He sat back down again. After a moment he asked, “What was her name?”

There was a pause that Legolas thought sounded faintly embarrassed. “Eliriel,” Dwalin said, after a long moment.

Legolas’ eyes widened. But that was an – 

“Elf’s name!” Bilbo said.

Gandalf started chuckling a bit around his pipe, which led to a coughing fit. Legolas watched as Bombour – the fat, red-haired one – pounded the Wizard on the back. It took a minute for Gandalf to catch his breath again. “Oh the irony,” he muttered.

Balin shot him a disapproving glance. “You see, laddie, Eliriel wasn’t her real name. I don’t think any of us knew her real name except Thorin. We don’t even know where she came from, because it didn’t seem like her people were any of the know settlements of men. But she loved the Elves and so she took a name from their tongue. We always just called her Ellie.”

There was a sadness upon the old dwarf’s face, a sudden settling of years that brought back home for Legolas that Tauriel was dead, and it must have done the same for the dwarves, because Bilbo looked around at their downcast faces. “What happened to her?” His tone said that he already half-suspected, but the words that came out of Balin’s mouth took him, Legolas and Gandalf completely by surprise.

“She fell in battle, many years ago now, defending Thorin, Dis, Fili and Kili from a kin of Durin’s Bane.”

Gandalf once again chocked on his pipe. “A balrog?!” He coughed a bit. “You’re joking me. There is no way that Thorin would have survived if he had gone up against a balrog!”

Legolas found himself inching towards the group as the Wizard spoke. He didn’t believe a word of this either.

Balin sighed and exchanged a look with his brother. Dwalin picked up the thread. “It was not as large as Durin’s Bane, but was obviously the same sort of creature. We have stories and pictures. We know what they look like. The…….balrog made its home in the north. Above the Misty Mountains. It also had many orcs and goblins and even several trolls under its thrall. They captured Dis and her two sons when she was travelling to visit kin in the Grey Mountains. It was obvious that they were being used as bait for Thorin.”

Gandalf shoved his pipe aside and leant closer to Dwalin. “When was this!”

“Right after Thror and Frerin fell before Kazad-Dum, and Thrain was lost to us. About two decades after after in fact. Kili was only a child.”

“What happened?” Bilbo asked, glancing at Gandalf as the Wizard appeared to be deep in thought, counting or calculating in his mind.

“Thorin went after them. And Ellie went after him.” Dwalin shook his head ruefully. “How she caught up to him I have no idea. We set off not even six hours after Thorin with over a hundred battle-ready dwarves, but we arrived when the battle was almost finished. Ellie was……..frail, would probably be the best term to describe her. And human. There should have been no way that she caught up to Thorin, let alone had enough strength for a battle with a…..balrog. But Dis told us afterwards that Thorin and Ellie fought together against the balrog.”

“How?” Gandalf demanded, his eyes glancing towards the still figure of the dwarf-king. “And how did I not know of this?”

“We don’t know how,” Balin admitted. “Dis, Fili and Kili all refused to talk about it, and when we arrived Thorin was already on the ground, unconscious and with many burns and broken bones. Ellie was half-charred. It was……truly hideous to look at. But her neckace……..the one that Thorin wears now……..it was glowing and when it hit the balrog it screamed. And she was shouting words at it that appeared to cause it pain as well. They killed each other, Ellie and the balrog.” There was silence for several moments while the dwarves fidgeted and Gandalf and Legolas pondered.

Bilbo, who had read about balrogs but had no true idea of their power and ability to inspire terror, asked, “Why is that so unusual?”

It was Gandalf who answered. “Because no human or dwarf has ever killed a balrog, and the only Elves who managed it died and were granted great gifts by the Valar. It should not have been possible.”

And Balin laughed sadly, while Dwalin almost smiled. “That was Ellie in a nutshell. She was as rude and surly and proud as Thorin, and as frail as an old woman, but she was utterly unstoppable when she put her mind to something. She could do things that seemed impossible.”

“But she died.”

“And left Thorin alone,” Balin agreed. 

“He never got over it,” Bofur put in. 

“It’s why we don’t talk about her, even now. Even amongst ourselves,” Oin said. “Although now that Thorin is dead……” he trailed off.

“You all knew her?” Bilbo asked.

“Ori never met her,” Oin said, “and she was closest to Thorin, Fili and Kili.”

“And Dis,” Dwalin said. Ominously, apparently, for the other dwarves lowered their eyes. “She is now the last of the line.”

“Poor girl,” Balin said.

“Dis is Thorin’s sister?” The intricacies of the Dwarven Royal Family were obviously about as clear to Bilbo as they were to Legolas. Which was not at all. He had only rarely seen Dwarven women, and never actually talked to one. They had always just looked like mildly-less hairy dwarf men wearing dresses. But, he supposed, he should be a bit more respectful even in his own thoughts, because Tauriel would not approve. She had loved that hairy prince – why, Legolas could not entirely fathom – but she had obviously seen something great in him. Tauriel had been extraordinary, and Legolas knew that she would have only fallen for someone who was at least a bit extraordinary himself. “She’s the queen, now,” Bilbo continued. “Isn’t she?”

Dwalin grunted, but Balin smiled apologetically. Legolas noticed that there was an unspoken agreement among the dwarves that Balin always explained things. He was the most patient, and certainly the wisest among them, but Legolas thought it had more to do with the fact that dwarves were secretive about their own affairs, and that they had decided that Balin – although fairly talkative and definitely quite accepting for a dwarf – was the best person to explain things without giving too much away.

“Dwarves are very patricarcal,” Gandalf said, and Balin nodded in agreement.

“Our lines of descent are always from the father,” the elderly dwarf continued. “This is most likely due to the fact that we have so few women, but it is also due to the fact that our earliest ancestors – the very first dwarfs who arose from the stone at the dawn of time – were men. Our forefathers.”

There was a diplomatic silence at this point, until at last Bilbo broached the subject. “Then how did they have any children?” He cleared his throat nervously.

They mated with the stone, Legolas thought, a bit uncharitably he realized, but couldn’t stop the snarky comment. Or with their gold. 

“We had sex with rocks,” Dwalin said, his face immobile.

Bilbo paused, obviously contemplating whether or not he should take the warlike dwarf seriously, and then Bofur started laughing. Soon all the other dwarves joined in as well until even Gandalf was chuckling. And if some of those laughs turned into a few tears, well none of the others were going to mention it. It would be their little secret.

Legolas looked up at the quiet tombs that loomed above the dwarves’ heads. Moonlight glinted off silver stone slabs. Soon there would be a grand funeral procession and the bodies of their royal family would be interned into ornate marble tombs to await the time when the world would be made anew and they would once again awake in the Halls of their Ancestors. 

Legolas looked down at the sword in his hands; Orcrist. He had taken it from Thorin Oakenshield, and then returned it to the Dwarf King for his last fight before the Mountain. Now it was in his possession once more, but it no longer felt right. This blade had slain the mightiest of Orc Captains, perhaps a few dragons, and even a Balrog during the First Age of the world. He did not feel worthy to bear it into battle, but he did not want to give it to another either. His father…..well Legolas would leave that thought alone for the moment. He might have given it to Tauriel; if anyone was worthy of it, it was her. But she lay in the tomb besides her prince. She would awake in the Blessed Realm, but Legolas thought it would not suit her, for she would never see Kili again, for he had gone the way of Men and Hobbits, out of the Circles of the World.

“I may take the name of my father,” Bilbo was saying now, “but I am equally, if not more so, my mother’s son. Hobbit’s know this. I am the Old Took’s grandson, I am Belladonna Took’s child. Their blood flows in my veins. I don’t mean to brag, but it’s where I got my adventurousness from.”

“You are indeed Belladonna Took’s son, Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf said, knocking the pipeweed out of his pipe and putting the piece away in his sack. “And she would be very proud of you. You had done honor to the Tooks.”

Bilbo smiled sadly. “But not to the Baggins’, I’m afraid.”

“A bunch of duffers,” Gandalf intoned, and Bilbo’s sadness went away to be replaced by genuine amusement.

“Sometimes Gandalf, I think you’re right.”

“I usually am.”

Bilbo started to pace, back and forth before the tombs. The other dwarfs, not eating or drinking or even smoking, watched him absently from their silent vigil around their king.  
“So, Thorin’s sister will not be queen, because she is his sister. But you said that dwarves always take their descent from the father. So how then was Fili, Thorin’s heir. Because Fili was Thorin’s sister’s son.”

“Ah, now you’ve hit the nail upon the head,” Balin agreed. “It caused quite a few arguments when Thorin announced that, and might even have led to open warfare had Thorin and Ellie not done what they did to prevent it. By dwarven law the rightful heir should have been Dain Ironfoot.”

“The dwarf who will be crowned in two months? Thorin’s cousin?”

“Yes. A distant cousin. Descendant of the Line of Durin by a younger son, but always from the father.”

“Dis should be queen,” Dwalin growled. “I’ll have no dwarf from the Iron Hills king over me. Especially one who did not aid Thorin upon this quest, and came only at the last minute for his share of the treasure.” There was a low muttering of agreement from the other dwarves. Bilbo looked surprised and Gandalf looked mildly apprehensive.

“Now see here…” the Wizard began, but was interrupted by the other dwarves.

“When is the Lady Dis arriving?” Bofur asked.

“Will she be receiving the king’s rooms?” Oin demanded.

“She better be,” Dwalin growled, “Or Dain will be receiving words from me. Words in the form of Elf-biter and Orc-Cleaver.” He held up his heavy axe and then his long knife.  
Legolas snorted quietly. That gruff dwarf seemed exactly the type to name his weapons. Especially something as rude as “Elf-biter.”

Bilbo wrinkled his nose at the weapons. “She stayed behind during the quest.”

“Yes,” Balin said. “Thorin placed her in charge of their people while he was away.”

“Is she a good ruler?” 

Balin smiled fondly. “The best. She is wise and noble, and as commanding as Thorin was. Her sons got their fierceness from her, because their father was the most polite and rational of dwarves.”

It was at this point that Legolas slipped away. He would return to Tauriel’s tomb later. For now he had to polish Orcrist, because soon Legolas, prince of Elves, would be burying the Elvish blade with its rightful owner, the King of all Dwarves.

&……&……&……&……&……&


	2. Queen of Dwarves and Lady of Erebor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own none of the characters except for Eliriel, and she does what she wants anyway. Some of you have stated the opinion that Eliriel seems like a Mary Sue and I promise she was not/will not be one. The dwarves see her through the prism of the past for she has been dead for eighty years or so. They are a people who love heroic ballads and as such have made her into one. As always, please review and tell me what you think!

The crowning of the new dwarf-king, Dain Ironfoot, was scheduled for two months after the end of what came to be known as the Battle of the Five Armies. This was an extremely quick layover period from the death of one king to the crowning of the other, especially given the work that had to be done in preparation of the coronation and in clean-up of the battle. Legolas suspected that the dwarves wanted an official seal on all actions undertaken at the mountain, for the kingship of the House of Durin – oldest, proudest and last of the royal Dwarf lines – was of paramount importance and interest to all of the Dwarf clans.

Thranduil had returned to the Forest Realm, but he had left a large contingent of Elves behind to help with the cleanup of Dale and the rebuilding of parts of Erebor. He had placed his son in charge in what Legolas knew to be a sign of respect to Thorin Oakenshield. It was also a way for Thranduil to help Legolas deal with his grief at Tauriel’s passing.  
The Elf-Captain had been buried next to her prince, and Legolas had no wish, for the moment, to leave her tomb. Decorated with mithril in the shape of stars and emblazoned only with her name, rank, and her relation to the dwarf prince she lay beside, Tauriel had gone to rest with all honors. It had been Legolas who convinced his father to allow this, and Gandalf the Grey who had interceded with Thranduil on Legolas’ behalf. When Lord Elrond seconded Gandalf’s request, Legolas knew that his father would acquiesce.  
Legolas also knew that his extended grief only furthered Thranduil’s belief that his son had been in love with the red-haired warrior. Elves mated once, and for eternity, yet even then grief could arise due to unequal pairings and unrequited love. Maeglin of Gondolin had been in love with his first cousin, the Princess Idril, yet she had loved and wedded the mortal Tuor – the Lord Elrond’s grandparents. The musician Daeron had loved the incomparable Luthien Tinuviel, but her heart was unmoved by him. The same was true of Nellas – the Doriathrin who had loved the great warrior Turin Turambar, who had had the Doom of Morgoth laid upon him. Finduilas had loved Turin as well, and mayhap he had loved her, but he had married the golden-haired maid of his own people, Niniel, who turned out to be his never-before-seen little sister; the grief of which drove them both to their  
deaths.

But that had not been Legolas’ feelings for Tauriel. He had loved the younger elf-woman like a sister. She had been his closest friend, the one person who could keep up with him, challenge him and even surpass him. She had a wisdom so different from his own, and one which could continually surprise him. She saw the world from a perspective that he found as perplexing as it was fascinating and refreshing. She was so young that her hope and faith in the light had not been dimmed……..and now never would be.

Legolas did not know how to say good-bye to that. Death was unnatural to Elves, and when they were faced with it, they tended to handle it badly. Thranduil had still not moved on from his grief at his wife’s death, over a millennia ago now.

Legolas moodily kicked a pebble off the side of the mountain and watched it bounce and ricochet off the stone, from gulley to cliff-face until it tumbled out of sight. The wind rustled disconsolately and rustled the elven prince’s hair. Distant voices drifted up on air currents from the work of dwarves, men and elves as they hammered and chiseled and swore at sudden avalanches and the bitter breeze. Legolas could not feel the cold, but he had seen the red faces and bundled forms of men and dwarves and knew that today was the type of weather that led to sickness for them – the first chill of autumn and the precursor of the winter to come.

He was sitting, with his legs dangling over the edge, next to the secret door through which thirteen dwarves and a hobbit had first entered the mountainous lair of the dragon  
Smaug. It was quiet up here; not even Balin had discovered him up here, and the old dwarf was the wiliest of beings. Legolas had witnessed the venerable dwarf’s abilities many times over the past months as he bargained with both Dale and MIrkwood on behalf of his new king, Dain Ironfoot.

Of the dwarf-king himself, Legolas was unsure. Gruff and stocky, with none of Thorin’s majesty and innate charisma, the venerated warrior appeared as a poor second to the king the dwarves had lost. Whatever beauty and power Eru had granted to the line of Durin, it was sorely lacking, or had been long lost by the time it arrived at Dain Ironfoot. Nor did the new king make up for his lack of physical presence with stunning displays of wit or cunning. He was obvious and impatient and rude. There was no subtlety in Dain Ironfoot; he barked orders at Elves and Men just as he did dwarves. Obviously used to commanding, he had not gone through fire and blood like Thorin Oakenshield, and thus did not have his strength of character, the rock-stubborn determination of his cousin. Nor did Dain possess the humility and ability for empathy that the princes Fili and Kili had, for he had not come from nothing and earned his right to be counted among warriors due to his own skill; he had been treated a king his whole life and it showed.

Legolas was unsure of the Woodland Realm’s continued relations with Erebor since Dain was now the king. And that was something that even he was aware approached the heights of irony, since under Thorin Oakenshield, the Elves and Men had narrowly avoided a war with the Mountain, only due to the machinations of a Dark Lord.

He vaguely wondered what Sauron would say about this if anyone ever told him that he had repaired relations between the species instead of crushing them like he had intended.  
He wondered who would be brave enough to tell him.

There was a polite clearing of a throat behind him. Legolas froze, carefully controlling his face, before turning around and showing the visitor – undoubtedly an elf given his or her stealthy approach – the perfect façade of a prince of the Elves.

But it was not an elf at all who stood behind him, but a hobbit. Bilbo Baggins of the Shire hovered shamefacedly in the dwarven doorway, as though unsure whether to great Legolas or to run back the way he had come.

“Er……..Good Morning,” the hobbit said at last. He scratched awkwardly behind an ear and shuffled his feet. His clothes were ill-fitting due to having once belonged to men, but they were of good quality and obviously not the ones he had brought with him from the Shire.

“Is it?” Legolas asked skeptically, and Bilbo smiled.

“I rather think so. The birds are singing. No one is dying………” he trailed off, not knowing how to continue that sentence without stepping upon Legolas’ own personal grief. Enough people had died already, and their memory was still too raw and near for lighthearted jokes. “Anyway……..I was just sent up here to ask you to come down for a welcoming ceremony. Apparently Lord Elrond’s sons have arrived and are waiting to be presented to Dain and Bard. And to you.”

“Thank you for the message, Master Hobbit,” Legolas said, formally. “Please inform them that I will be down momentarily.” He waited until the slight whisper of hobbit feet had disappeared before he quietly departed to his rooms via the other way. He managed to make it to his rooms, slightly freshen up his appearance and place the official circlet of his royal status around his head, and make it to the throne room before Bilbo Baggins had returned to relay Legolas’ message. It might have been childish, but the millennia old elven prince felt the urge to smirk at the hobbit as he did a double-take when he saw the silver-haired elf.

Bilbo shook his head and vaguely smiled, not at all offended, and took his place next to Gandalf the Grey and Lord Elrond. Dain Ironfoot sat upon a hastily erected throne. To his right stood his top lieutenants. To his left were the ten dwarves who had followed Thorin from the Blue Mountains and had survived the Battle of the Five Armies.  
Bard and his three children, dressed in elegant clothes to show the newly acquired wealth of Dale, stood to Legolas’ right.

The Great Hall was in an ongoing state of construction. Although the rubble from Thorin’s battle with Smaug had been cleared up, the hole towards the top of the cavern had yet to be repaired. Scaffolding had been erected up there, and around all of the great pillars as the dwarfs tested for structural integrity, and tools were strewn about, for work went on in this room only at night. During the day it was in use for the conduct of the king’s business.

The room really was a magnificent feat of dwarven engineering. Carved out of the very mountain itself, it was – like the rest of Erebor – a very dark green color, so that it look slightly underwater, slightly as though it was located deep in the heart of a primeval forest. Ornate symbols covered the pillars, and new banners, showing the symbol of the House of Durin, as well as Dain Ironfoot’s own personal coat of arms, were being hung from high up along stone rafters. When the new lighting was installed – on schedule for Dain’s coronation – and the elven lights strewn about – which were a gift from King Thranduil – Legolas knew that the room would be truly magnificent.

The far door was opened by the guards, and three figures walked through. Although they wore travelling cloaks and tunics, the garments were of extremely fine make. All three, male, were young looking, with dark-hair and – as they walked the length of the room closer to the king – grey eyes. Their faces were elven fair, and their features were so alike that it was obvious they were of the kin of Elrond. Two of them, with matching long hair, were close enough to be twins.

“Lords Elladan and Elrohir,” Balin intoned, waving at the twins, and then he waved towards the youngest, the one with the shoulder-length dark hair and the………..rounded ears. 

“And Lord Estel. Sons of Lord Elrond of Rivendell.”

The third son of Elrond was a mortal man.

Legolas stood still while Dain and Bard proffered their greetings. No one said anything. Did they even notice? Was this somehow not a big deal, that one of the greatest Elves in all of Middle Earth had a son counted among the race of men? That he was Elrond’s actual son, Legolas did not questions for a moment. The resemblance was too uncanny for anything else. But that meant that Elrond had had a son with a human woman……..and he had not married her. Lord Elrond’s wife, the elven Lady Celebrian, had sailed West many centuries ago. The Elf-Lord was still bound to her though, and could not marry again. For an Elf to have a child out of wedlock, even an Elf of mixed ancestry like Lord Elrond, well…………

“I see you are confused,” Bard whispered, as the young Elf-Lords bowed at last to their father, and then were swept up in a hug. 

“It is a matter within the Elven community,” Legolas responded, brusquely, “you would not understand.”

“The youngest is not Elrond’s biological son,” Bard continued anyway.

“What? No, that’s impossible. Of course he’s Lord Elrond’s son……..otherwise…….”

Bard shrugged. “The Wizard told me that Elrond adopted the boy, and loves him as though he were his own, but they are only distantly related.”

Legolas did not answer, and so Bard turned away and went forward to discuss something with Balin. Legolas was left standing next to Sigrid. Bard’s two other children had darted forward to be introduced, but Sigrid stayed regally in her place. The eldest child of the new King of Dale was a born queen, and Legolas privately thought that it was a pity the crown – although not yet smelted – would go to her younger brother. Sigrid was compassionate and dutiful, but she was strong-willed and possessed the ability to command. Already she had taken over most of the architectural aspects of rebuilding Dale; foremost among her concerns were proper sanitation. Lady Sigrid had not approved of Lake Town’s lack in this regard.

Legolas had hear that Dwalin – Thorin’s former right-hand dwarf – thoroughly agreed with her.

Lady Sigrid had taken the loses from the Battle of the Five Armies almost as hard as Legolas himself, and the prince mildly suspected her of harboring feelings for the eldest of the dwarf princes – the one who should have been king after Thorin – Fili. 

He only vaguely remembered Kili’s brother, taken up as he was by Tauriel’s inappropriate romance with the younger prince, but from what he did know, the heir apparent had been dutiful, intelligent, and much less hot-headed than either his brother or his uncle. Legolas suspected he would have made a good king.

Dain Ironfoot burped loudly and slouched in the throne chair. He did not stand up even now to shake the hands of Elrond’s sons.

He would have made a much better king than the one the dwarves have now, Legolas thought rebelliously, and from Dwalin’s face and Gloin’s wrinkled nose, and even Bilbo’s raised eyebrow, he knew that Thorin’s, Fili’s and Kili’s companions agreed.

Lady Sigrid bent closer to him. “Are you alright, Prince Legolas?” she asked, kindly.

Legolas nodded. He was as well as could be, given the circumstances.

Sigrid eyed him for a moment, before placidly observing, “Elrond’s three sons are a handsome bunch. I’ve heard that he has a daughter of extraordinary beauty.”

Legolas nodded again.

“I especially like the youngest one. The man. He has an……..innocence, but also a strong-willed gaze. It is quite appealing.”

Legolas’ attention was drawn once more to Elrond’s youngest. He still was not convinced that the young man was not Elrond’s by blood, and his distaste for this theory must have shown in his face for Sigrid laughed shortly.

“Fili told me that the Elves have strange customs. Stranger than the dwarves.” She patted him on the arm. “My father told me that the youngest, Estel, is of the kin of Elrond through both his birth-mother’s and his birth-father’s side, for he is of the Men of the West. He is long-lived, like them, and his ancestors came from over the sea many, many centuries ago. Young Estel will one day be a king of his people, like you will be a king of yours.” There was a pause. “And my brother will be king of ours.”

Legolas shot the young woman a quick, interrogative glance. “And you will never be queen.”

Sigrid shrugged. “Several weeks ago it would not have caused me the slightest pause, because that was how things were done. That is how they have always been done. The eldest son is heir to his father, and power comes from the father………I would not have fought either, for fighting is the province of men. But then Tauriel, your friend, came in. And she saved us. As did you. And I started thinking. And then Fili told me about his mother………and now things that were once so clear and certain, no longer seem so…….”

“Set in stone?” Legolas asked, slightly joking. Sigrid smiled and nodded, and someone off to Legolas’ left chuckled.

The elven prince and human princess turned to find Elrond’s youngest, the mysterious Estel, standing there, next to his father. Lord Elrond smiled at Legolas and Sigrid. “May I present my son, Estel, whose birth name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, of the House of my brother, Elros.”

Sigrid curtseyed and Legolas nodded. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Estel,” Sigrid said, and then fluidly stepped forward and took Elrond’s arm. “My Lord Elrond, I’ve been meaning to speak with you regarding certain architectural features of your home, Imladris. I’ve been trying to improve the streets of Dale and I was wondering if you could explain to me, in depth, about……….” And with that she walked off and their conversation was lost, and Legolas was left staring at Estel.

The man – very young, still a boy really – had a bright, mischievous sparkle in his eyes, and his gaze was friendly. He was exceedingly handsome, and clearly had been trained to fight, for his body was toned and agile. He wore the royal blue that was the hallmark of the House of Elrond, and he carried his weapons about his person with ease. “You are distant kin as well!” the boy said, jovially, “For we are both of the House of Elu.” The Sindarin Royal House had produced many heroes and kings among both men and elves, and none more so than the descendants of Luthien; of which Aragorn was clearly one.

Legolas nodded. “My great-grandmother, Eliriel, was Elu Thingol’s younger sister.”

Aragorn Estel clasped Legolas’ hand, and looked like he would have hugged the silver-haired prince if Legolas hadn’t taken a hasty step back. The prince felt the childish urge to say, ‘no touching,’ but restrained himself. He hurriedly dropped the young human’s hand.

It was then that Lord Elrond returned, trailed by the wandering wizard, Gandalf the Grey. Legolas had had quite a bit of dealings with the crotchety old man by now, and found him taciturn, quick to anger and very certain of his own abilities, but had found, much to his own surprise, that he was beginning to respect the powerful eternal traveler. The prince had met Radaghast numerous times, but had never found him to be more than an eccentric hermit with a strange fixation on animals.

Legolas felt a brief pang of sadness at the knowledge that the strange, brown-clothed man had been lost in a battle against the Dark Lord. Much that had seemed eternal to him was now changed, and lost forever. And looking back, Legolas wondered how much he had missed in Radaghast’s demeanor that might have clued him in to the little, old man’s true personality, and deep power. He wondered how much his own arrogance and certainty in his own superiority – and in his father’s superiority – had blinded him.  
He wondered if Tauriel had seen something more in Radaghast. Something that he had missed.

He was almost certain that she had.

Gandalf wacked the elven prince with the back of his staff. Legolas jumped. “Pay attention, young elf,” he snapped. Legolas could feel Estel’s smugness from all the way over here and sullenly – and discreetly – rubbed his behind where the wood had struck it.

“Pay attention to what?”

“Gandalf and I have a proposition to put to both you and my son,” Lord Elrond said, raising an eyebrow at Gandalf’s antics. He waved at his old friend to explain farther.

The Grey Wizard had just opened his mouth to do just that when he was interrupted by the blaring of trumpets. They came from outside with a bright, commanding sound that caused many dwarves in the room to suddenly stand to attention. Even Dain Ironfoot was now on his feet.

“Who is it?” the dwarf king commanded.

A guard came in at a run, but before he could do more than whisper in the king’s ear there was a sudden pounding on the doors to the Great Hall itself, before they were swung open and a huge party of dwarves filled the entryway.

They were richly dressed in black and silver, their weapons were polished and prominent on their backs and at their sides, and there faces were both stern and friendly. Banners which also proclaimed the House of Durin were carried by two young male dwarfs at the front, and at their entrance the dwarves of Thorin Oakenshield’s company set up a murmuring. 

But it was the leader of these dwarves who drew all attention. She was tall, for a dwarf. And she was undoubtedly female. She didn’t even possess a beard like most dwarven women. Her features were harsh and beautiful, her hair very dark, and her eyes were as dark as her son’s had been. She walked forwards into the Hall and Legolas, beholding her, knew that she could be none other than Dis, sister of Thorin, daughter of Thrain.

Last of the House of Durin.

She had the bearing of a queen. Even Dain Ironfoot was silent as she slowly paced forwards, until, with a mild oath, Dwalin detached himself from the other dwarves clustered around the throne, crossed the Great Hall and seamlessly took his place behind the lady’s right side. And as though his movement released some sort of spell, the other dwarves of Thorin’s company immediately followed suit. Bilbo the hobbit went with them.

Gandalf had stepped back and was watching the proceedings with a strange gleam in his eye, and Dain started shouting.

Lady Dis ignored the dwarf king’s ranting. She ignored the guards that came to halt her progress, but were obviously too much in awe to actually touch her, and she walked steadily, implacably forwards until she came to the dais, directly beneath the throne where her brother should have sat.

Everyone else was silent. Dain’s yelling for her to halt, to show him the respect due to him as king of dwarves, and for his guards to throw her out, echoed around the Great Hall.

Dis walked up the steps until she towered over the much shorter Dain. She then stared at him, in complete silence, until eventually even his ranting was ceased, and he subsided sullenly back onto his throne. At last she spoke.

“Greetings, Dain, son of Nain. Blessings be upon your House and your Line.” Her tone implied that if he didn’t tread very carefully, that blessings weren’t the only things she could call down upon his House and his Line. 

Legolas saw Gandalf give a quick grin, and saw Bilbo’s sudden eye widening. She was undoubtedly Thorin Oakenshield’s sister.

The dwarf queen’s hand rested casually upon an elegant sword hilt. As she moved that hand and extended it towards Dain for him to kiss, all eyes were drawn to the fact that her party was so very numerous, and extremely well-armed. This was a power play, pure and simple, and Legolas held his breath as he waited to see what move Dis and Dain would each make.

“It is a shame that the dwarves of the Blue Mountains did not receive an invitation to the crowning of the king of Erebor,” Dis continued now, her tone light and deceptively polite.  
“Especially odd considering that the last heir of the House of Durin was living there.” She raised her hand higher, until it was directly under Dain’s nose.

Dain Ironfoot looked from the hand and then up into the face of the stern and terrifying dwarf queen. Then he took her hand gently in his, and raised it to his lips. He stood up from his throne and bowed to her. “A most grievous oversight, I am sure, Lady Dis. We welcome you most humbly to the Mountain, and I will have a suite of rooms prepared for you, and accommodation found for your dwarves immediately. We are honored that you could join us for the coronation.”

And Legolas knew that war had been declared. Dain would not concede his power without a fight.

Dis raised an eyebrow, but her eyes glinted, and she knew exactly what Dain had decided. Her next words though, reminded all and sundry that she was not just a rival to the throne, she was a woman who had suffered more than anyone should. “First,” she said, her tone completely serious, her eyes still. “I would see the tombs of my sons. And the final resting place of my brother.”

Dain’s eyes widened, and guilt flashed across his face. He had obviously momentarily forgotten this as well. To Legolas’ surprise the fat, grisly dwarf king shot to his feet, extended a hand for Dis, and led her gently from the Hall. “Right this way, my lady.” And he sounded like he meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: So, what did you think? Do you like Dis so far? And Aragorn? Sigrid was a surprise to me, because I had no intention of including her in the story, but she was just begging to be put in, and she’ll have her own subplot not really related to the main bulk of the story. And I’ve seen a bunch of people wondering about Sigrid and Fili, and so I put them as an almost-thing as well.


	3. The Queen and the Dwarf-king's wife, Also Gandalf has a Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing from either J.R.R.Tolkien’s books or Peter Jackson’s films. Mores the pity. Legolas is still the viewpoint character, if only because I find his opinions on everything going on fairly hilarious. Next chapter will most likely change that though, so hold on. This chapter will see more dwarven politics, Gandalf being a manipulative bastard of the highest order, Elrond’s sons getting up to mischief, Sigrid taking control, and Dis meeting someone she thought was long gone. Also, Dwalin takes a stand. Are you ready?  
> Also, the movie was absolutely amazing. It changed some of what happened, and maybe one day I’ll get around to re-editing the first two chapters, but pretend Tauriel died of grief not long after Kili and we’ll both be fine for the purposes of this story. Finally, the part where Legolas and Thorin fight together was my absolute favorite part of the movie. I just loved their dynamic. Neither had to talk about it, but they had each other’s back.   
> Also, Legolas going off to find Aragorn was AMAZING! 60 years those two were fighting evil together and getting up to adventures. That makes this story slightly AU, but pretend it’s just an alternate way for them to start having adventures together.

&……&……&……&……&……&

The dwarves of Dis’ party mille about uncertainly, in the wake of the dwarf queen’s departure. A low level of murmuring ensued as all and sundry attempted to find a way to follow the king and the queen without being too obvious about it.

Dwalin began a heated argument with the dwarf who seemed to be in charge after Dis; someone called Haggis, which was a strange name even for a dwarf

At last, the eldest of Elrond’s sons, Elladan – the one with the earring, which Legolas found to be mildly scandalous, especially for an elf prince – stepped down from the dais and winked at his brothers. “Up for a little reconnaissance?” he asked, stretching languidly and keeping a wary eye on his father, who was still deep in discussion with Gandalf.

Estel’s quick smile and Elrohir’s eyes brightening were all the response Elrond’s eldest son needed. “Different exits,” he ordered imperiously, pointing towards the various doors set in the Great Hall. “We meet in the entrance room and circle back around. Go.” And, still keeping one eye on his father, he sidled out of sight. Elrohir turned and started flirting with Sigrid, before taking her arm and meandering from the room with her. Legolas could tell from her raised eyebrow that she knew exactly what he was up to. The young man turned towards the elf prince.

“Do you want to come?”

Legolas knew his face looked like stone. “This is no child’s game, Lord Aragorn. Good people have died, and the darkness endures. We do not even know yet which way this kingdom will go. Or the kingdom of men, for that matter.”

Estel’s face hardened. “I’m older than I look, and I’ve been on my own in the wild for several years now. I am not a child. I know exactly what’s at stake. That’s why I want to go and see what that dwarf lady is up to.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow, unmoved.

Estel folded his arms. “What’s your problem anyway?” he demanded.

Legolas opened his mouth to tell the human exactly what his problem was when he caught Gandalf’s stern eye. The old wizard was obviously far too observant for his own good.   
Legolas stared blandly back but could not hold the powerful mage’s gaze for long. He dropped his eyes and stoically resigned himself to extended babysitting duties until he   
could find another way to get out of it.

He stalked off, not caring that the others in the room watched him depart. Estel remained behind for a moment before trotting to catch up. He sounded faintly smug as he said, “so, decided it wasn’t beneath you after all?”

Didn’t want a wizard throwing fireballs at me, Legolas silently disagreed.

Elladan, Elrohir and Sigrid were waiting for them both outside. Dwarves moved around them, scaffolding was being erecting, hammering and sawing and smelting was taking place, and people were industriously clearing up the rubble. Men and women from Dale and Lake Town were, here and there, taking part in the clean-up as well.

The dwarves, for the most part, ignored them. A recitation by one of them was going on in Kuzdul. Legolas heard Thorin’s dwarvish named being uttered and guest that they were once again recounting his exploits – a hero carved in stone for all of eternity.

Estel was obviously watching Legolas out of the corner of his eye, for he spoke now, soft and somewhat hesitant. “My father mentioned that you had lost someone……….close to you. Recently.” Legolas turned and looked at the boy without expression. Estel got a defiant look in his gaze and refused to back down, although he looked visibly more nervous. “I am sorry for your loss.” And then he placed a quick hand to Legolas’ shoulder before looking away again and speaking no more about it.

Legolas looked at the man in surprise, noticed the faint laugh-lines mixed with worry-lines beginning to appear around his eyes, and looked away again.

Elladan had been listening to Sigrid explain about the rebuilding effort with interest, while Elrohir had obviously been eavesdropping on a bunch of dwarf ladies who were standing nearby. He was preening like a peacock.

Sometimes Legolas forgot that the sons of Elrond were more Noldor than Sindar, that they admired learning and crafting more than they preferred nature and the hunt. It had been a constant source of irritation to his father; that the heirs of Thingol were now counted among the race of Elves he had most hated, but Legolas had never particularly minded. It wasn’t like his father had gotten along with the Silvan elves he ruled or even his own Sindar either.

There was a reason Thranduil was ruling Silvan elves at the very edge of the Western World after all. Legolas knew all about what had happened between Amdir, Celeborn and Thranduil at the end of the Second Age. His mother had thought it vastly amusing. Legolas had wondered what she had seen in his father.

He still shot Elrohir a quelling look. Like there wasn’t enough bad blood between Elves and Dwarves as it was, without yet another Elf flirting with a Dwarf. He also had a feeling Dain would be far less accommodating to cross-species romance than Thorin had been.

The five of them moved down the hallway, up various staircases and skirted the armory before the came – by the back-way courtesy of Sigrid – to the same antechamber Legolas had been sitting outside before. They could hear Dain’s bellow when they were still three turnings away. The echoes distorted his words, but when they came into view of his vibrant red hair and florid face, they discovered that it was merely a highly-embellished version of Thorin’s, Fili’s and Kili’s last stand.

Dis stood before the tombs – still not moved to their final resting places – with lightly clasped hands and a blank face. Dwalin was a steady bulwark at her side.  
“……….and then the crazy bugger charged into the fray on mountain goats to kill that bastard, Azog and his butt-ugly son, Bolg. Just him, and your sons, and Dwalin here, the cazy loon! Wouldn’t hear a word against it……..”

Dis reached out and lightly placed a hand on Thorin’s tomb. They were all closed for the bodies had started to decompose, even with the mummification employed by the dwarves to preserve the bodies of their kings. She would no longer be able to look at their faces.

The dwarf-queen ran a finger over the blade, Orcrist, which had been placed on top of the tomb. “Elven?” she asked, with mild surprise, obviously well-aware of her brother’s loathing for all things Elf-made.

“It’s a good blade,” Dwalin said hurriedly, defensively.

Dis nodded. “And the Arkenstone was buried with him?” She turned and fixed her powerful gaze on Dain.

The red-haired warrior nodded rapidly. “Yes indeed it will be, when they are all moved to the final resting chamber. Decided it was, between Gandalf and I, that the stone was Thorin’s.” Dwalin snorted, Balin rolled his eyes, and Bilbo’s eyes widened at the dwarf-king. Even Legolas knew about the flaming rows which had taken place between Gandalf and Dain, the former insisting that the stone was Thorin’s and far too dangerous and corrupting to have lying in the possession of any more kings, the latter insisting that he was king and therefore deserved the king's jewel.

“Thorin was strong enough to break free of it!” Gandalf had shouted, the top of his hat literally smoking in his rage. “He will be strong enough to guard it in the afterlife! Cease your dwarvish-stubborness for once and listen to reason, damn you!”

Dain had agreed only when Dwalin and threatened to beat the ever-living hell out of him, and when Bard had sworn that no kingdom of his would do business with a king that bore that accursed jewel.

Dis moved on to Fili’s tomb, slowly moving her hands over it, and then to Kili’s. When she arrived at Tauriel’s, she paused to find her youngest son’s rune stone placed on top.   
Legolas held his breath. He had placed it there because he knew that Tauriel would have wanted it, but Dwalin had argued with him that it should be returned to Dis. He had almost come to blows with the dwarf, and indeed the old, battle-hardened sinner was opening his mouth…………….Dis held up her hand, immediately.   
Dwalin fell silent and she turned to his wiser brother.

“Balin, why is my son’s stone on the top of this tomb? Who is buried here?”

“Her name was Tauriel,” the oldest of the dwarfs said, sad but resolute. “She was a captain in Thranduil’s guard, a real beauty as well. And she was Kili’s………….” he tapered off.

“- Chosen one,” Bofur interjected quietly. “He chose her and he loved her.”

“And she loved him,” Oin rumbled, his ear-horn shoved in as he took part in the conversation. The rest of the dwarfs nodded, silent and solemn. No one said a single disapproving word………….until Dain opened his mouth.

“Completely unnatural, if you ask me,” he said, loudly.

“No one did,” Dwalin growled. 

“Why he couldn’t find a nice dwarven woman is beyond me, but then the boy always was a bit odd-“

Dis turned in one movement, grabbed him by the throat, and slammed the dwarf-king back against the wall hard enough that dust particles rained down. Her eyes were blank, her voice like ice. “Get out,” she said, before releasing him. Dain, coughing a bit, grumbled under his breath but complied.

Dis was calm and cold. She turned back to the tombs. “It does not surprise me that he fell in love with an elf,” she said at last. “And the woman died as well?”

“They died together,” Dwalin said.

“But they will spend all of eternity apart,” Dis said, still in that same dispassionate voice. Bilbo looked up at the dwarf-queen in surprise.

“You do not think they will find each other in the after-life?” he broke in.

Dis looked down at him and attempted a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Ah, Master Burglar,” she said gently. “Thorin wrote to me from Rivendell, talking about you.”

Bilbo blanched and looked at the ground. “I can only imagine what he said,” the hobbit responded, clearly embarrassed. 

Dis’ smile turned more genuine. “He did say that you were fussy and particular and afraid of everything, couldn’t sleep outdoors, always longing for a warm bed and consistent meals, and that you were utterly obsessed with the dwarfs washing their hands before they cooked any food.”

There was a small rumble of laughter from the other dwarves. Next to Legolas, Sigrid smiled and Estel gave a quiet snort.

“I told him those complaints sounded familiar to me, and the last time he’d said that about someone they grew to be very close to him.”

“That they did,” Gloin agreed.

“Stubborn as shit under all that hoity-toity posh,” Dwalin agreed.

Bilbo looked up in wonder and the dwarf-queen’s smile was beautiful in its sadness and reminiscence. She reached out and placed a gentle hand on Bilbo’s cheek. “I am very glad you were with him at the end, Bilbo Baggins. I can guess what happened the closer he came to this mountain……….and I know that you helped him.”

“I tried,” Bilbo whispered, and now there were tears in his eyes, shining, waiting to fall.

Legolas flashed back to Thorin’s body, still and bloody on a river of ice, with the hobbit weeping next to his fallen friend. Tauriel’s pale face and dead eyes amidst all the vibrancy of Mirkwood, and the bodies of the dwarven princes, armored, with faces so very young, cut down far before their time, like heroes from a bygone era. There like would not be seen within the circles of Arda again. Legolas held his breath until the sudden pain in his chest went away.

A single tear trickled down Sigrid’s cheek. She hastily scrubbed it away again.

“I’m sure you helped a great deal,” Dis whispered. Then she dropped her hand and turned to Dwalin. “I would like to be alone with my sons. And my brother.”

The rest of the dwarves and Bilbo filed out of the main doorway. Elladan and Elrohir turned back as well, taking Sigrid with them. But Legolas stayed, and he felt Estel stay with him.

The dwarf-queen remained, head bowed, hands clenched, until the sound of the others faded. When she was sure that she was alone she went up to Thorin’s tomb and gripped the edge of it. With a massive shove she hauled the top off and glimpsed the face beneath. The Arksenstone glimmered by neither Legolas nor Aragorn could see the king who held it. She moved on to her eldest son, and then to her youngest. Her face was as though carved from stone.

At last she took a great, shuddering gasp, and she began to weep; her body wracked with sobs, she crouched besides the silent tombs of her dead kin and didn’t even attempt to stem the flow of tears which refused to stop.

&……&……&……&……&……&

It was many hours later, her tears and keening long gone and only numbness to take its place, that Dis stirred.

Neither Aragorn nor Legolas had left their silent vigil over her.

She painfully hauled herself to her feet and attempted to straighten her appearance. Legolas watched in understanding as she placed a carefully blank expression on her face, but the eyes gave her away. They were dead and cold in an otherwise beautiful face. Before she left, she picked up Kili’s rune stone and cradled it in her hand. Legolas did not begrudge her the acquisition, and he knew that Tauriel would not have either.

Legolas and his human shadow trailed the dwarf-queen done through stone hallways, lit with gentle, flickering lanterns. There were some shouts and cheers as dinner was underway in various dwellings, and in the Great Hall tables had been moved in and Dain was in the midst of copious amounts of quaffing. Dis paused before the doors, but she shook her head at the guards so they wouldn’t announce her, and eventually she moved past them towards the main entrance.

Gathered before the still-open hole where gates would soon stand, were the remaining dwarves from Thorin’s quest. Getting smaller and smaller in the distance was the small figure of the hobbit, and the taller, pointed hat of the Wizard. The dwarves were silent, but they moved aside for Dis to join them.

Just as Bilbo and Gandalf vanished over the horizon, Dwalin turned to Dis. “Gandalf had a proposition he wanted to put to you himself, but Bilbo wanted to leave so he left that job to that elf lord from Rivendell.”

“Lord Elrond,” Dis said, quietly, reprovingly, in what was undoubtedly an automatic reaction because her heart didn’t really seem into it.

“Yes, him,” Dwalin growled, but his attempt to provoke a reaction in his queen failed.

Dis sighed, “I will go see him, then.” She turned back towards the Great Hall, her gaze falling upon Legolas and Aragorn, who looked like two boys being caught in the cookie jar.   
She raised an eyebrow and opened a mouth when Bofur’s question caused her to turn back around.

“Wait, who is that?”

A lone figure was walking towards them. It must have past the Wizard and his hobbit companion without incident. As it walked closer Legolas could make out the features of a small, human woman. Pale-skinned with reddish-brown hair, she was dressed strangely, but carried herself with confidence. Her eyes were hidden behind glasses and she carried a sword slung over her shoulder, which contrasted weirdly with the tattered state of her short, black dress.

As the dwarves made out her features Dis drew in a sharp breath and Dwalin started swearing. The woman squinted in the afternoon sunlight and then waved a hand. “Hello, Dis,” she called, her accent as offbeat as the rest of her.

And Dis started running, across the detritus-laden ground, all dignity forgotten. The woman continued her rapid pace but didn’t run and as Dis came close she braced herself. The dwarf-queen was taller than the tiny, human woman, but that didn’t stop her from throwing herself in the other’s arms. Legolas could hear her sobbing again, as the woman’s arms came up around her and held Dis tightly. He couldn’t hear what they said, but it sounded like Kuzdul to him.

He exchanged a surprised looked with Estel.

“Who’s that?” the youngest dwarf, Ori, asked.

And Dwalin, his face and tone filled with wonder, said, “That’s Thorin’s…………”

“………wife,” Balin supplied. “Eliriel”

The other dwarves raised eyebrows and expressed their disbelief. “But she’s dead!” Bofur cried, stunned. “We watched her die!”

Legolas and Aragorn looked out to where Dis and Eliriel were walking slowly back towards the mountain.

“Yes,” Dwalin said. “She was.”

 

&……&……&……&……&……&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endnotes: So what did you think of this chapter? I promise you that none of my characters will be Mary Sues, basically everyone will get character development, and that the main plot starts next chapter thanks to Gandalf and his…….plans. But I thought we needed a chapter for Dis and her grief, which is basically how I feel about Thorin’s, Fili’s and Kili’s deaths. Dis dealing with that grief and finding her place in the world is going to be one of the main threads of this story. And Ellie is going to be a part of that too. Yes, she is Thorin’s wife, and an original character, but I hope she’ll interest you as much as the rest of them. I wanted an explanation for why Thorin didn’t say a word about Kili and Tauriel, and so I decided to give him a past inappropriate romance of his own. It’s all in the past, so if you don’t like it pretend she was a friend of his.  
> Also, what did you think of Aragorn and Legolas? They’ll be getting a lot of attention to their dynamic as well, as Aragorn & Legolas is my favorite relationship in the entire Middle Earth Saga.


	4. The Choice of a Few

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything from Tolkien or Peter Jackson, and the story simply follows the muse in my head.

&……&……&……&……&……&

There was an insistent pounding on Dis’ door the next morning. She hadn’t been sleeping anyway.

With a sigh, she rose from her place by the window and wrapped her shawl more tightly around herself. Winter had reached Erebor and biting winds raced over the Lonely   
Mountain. Dis liked the fresh, cold air but it had not helped her sleep; it had only made her colder.

The knocking came again. Louder this time.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she muttered. “Durin take you all. What respectable hour do you think this is?” she demanded of the Universe at large. She rubbed her eyes tiredly and tried to see if her hair was respectable, but considering she had spent the entire night sitting upright in a chair, she was fairly sure it looked alright.

As the next knock came, Dis hauled the door open ready to lambast the person on the other side of it. Her tirade tapered off before it even started when she saw Dwalin on the other side. He looked as terrible as she was certain she did. He’d also brought his axe.

Dis swallowed and settled herself, and then arched an eyebrow at her cousin. “Any particular reason you have come armed to my door at this time of morning, Dwalin son of Fundin?”

He cleared his throat hastily and attempted to hide the axe behind him.

Dis, unwillingly, found herself slightly amused. “It’s not working,” she informed him, helpfully. He opened his mouth to explain but she shook her head. “You might as well come in and explain it.”

She led him back into her quarters. They were indeed quite spacious and had obviously been recently renovated for Dis did not remember any room quite like this from the Erebor of old. The stamp of the Iron Hills was clearly on them, for everything was serviceable and plain, but the dwarves of the Blue Mountains had obviously been here as well, for she found architectural innovations discovered by her own people in the curve of the cornices and the ornate design of the chairs, in the colors of the canopied bed and in the elegant design of the window she saw the influence Elves and Men had had on the wandering and adventurous dwarves who had spent almost over a century evicted from their own home.   
Their presence in the architecture, slight though it might have been, gave her a small measure of comfort.

Dwalin eyed her chair by the window but didn’t say anything. He himself refused to sit down and stood before her like a schoolboy about to be chastised by his teacher and fidgeting with his axe.

Dis sighed internally. “I see our kin have been hard at work here,” she said, to break the silence. 

Dwalin looked around but obviously could not see what she was talking about. No surprises there; he never had been interested in the mining and smith craft aspects of being a dwarf. Like Thorin, he had been too much of a warrior.

Unlike Thorin, he did not possess the ability to hide his thoughts.

Dis sighed again. “What have you done, Dwalin?”

“What makes you think I’m the one who did something?!” He looked mildly affronted despite his tiredness.

Dis feared if she arched her eyebrow any further it would get stuck in her hairline. “But you did, didn’t you?”

“I just did something back,” Dwalin insisted. “I wasn’t about to let him get away with it, Dis.”

Dis just waited, knowing Dwalin would explain himself eventually. Dwalin looked at Thorin’s sister, sleepless with dark circles under her eyes, but tall and proud, a sharpness in her gaze even now. “Come with me,” he told her.

She very much wanted to roll her eyes, but restrained herself. “Turn your back while I dress quickly, cousin, and explain anyway.”

Dwalin did as he was bid. “Do you remember Garok, from the Oldtown settlement in the Blue Mountains?”

“Yes.” Dis pulled on the nearest dress and braided her hair. “He’s here already?”

“Here and causing trouble. Says that a female has no place leading the House of Durin and that you should bow to Dain’s rightful authority. Is stirring up the other Blue Mountain dwarves. Bofur sent me word and Balin’s there now trying to smooth things over.”

Dis strode over to the door, Dwalin at her heels, and opened it to find Eliriel, also dressed, on the other side. Dis smiled, Ellie nodded, pushed up her glasses, and then the three of them moved through the quiet hallways under Dwalin’s whispered directions. They heard Garok’s officious tones long before they arrived.

“………and now we are being asked to go against our very nature to bow down to a dwarf-woman. It is a thing unheard of. Her sons are dead. Her brothers who would have been kings, are also dead. She is not respectful, coming here and demanding the mountain. She dishonors her entire family………”

He tapered off when he realized that he had lost his audience. Like defective clockwork he turned around and saw the tall dwarf-queen pacing towards him. Her stern visage was as though a harbinger of doom. Garok raised his chin and pretended he did not feel awe. Instead he glared at Dis, but she paid him no mind for the moment.

“Do you think my story is over because my sons are dead?! Do you think I should hide myself away in grief until I die myself?! Do you think all that I am is the mother of Heirs? The sister of kings?” She went over to Garok and shoved him. “Then you know nothing about me!” She turned and glared fiercely at her kin. “I am Thrain’s eldest child. I am his only child left! I am the last of the Line. I should be queen. And no boorish, cowardly, ignorant second cousin is going to cheat me of that.”

“And what about her?” Garok sneered, pointing at Ellie.

“What about her?”

“There’s entirely too much Other in your particular Line of the Family. We were forced to tolerate her presence once before and now she’s back. We don’t want any human ruling us!”

There were muttered agreements from multiple corners.

Dwalin bristled like a porcupine. “You watch your tongue, boy!” he roared. Nori was inching up behind Garok and looked like he planned to do him an injury.

“Just what are you implying,” Dis asked, her voice absolutely frigid.

Garok strode up and stared the dwarf-queen directly in the eye. Dwalin had his hand on his axe, ready to strike. “I’m saying that Thorin and now you don’t really know where your loyalties lie. You’re a traitor to your own blood!”

Dwalin roared in rage and charged, but Ellie got there first. She grabbed his fist, twisted it up and over, away from Dis, kicked out his legs and as he fell she punched him right in the face. He landed on the ground with a loud ‘thud’ and then there was silence. “Azanan bashuk askad amrad,” she snarled, the ancient dwarvish curse of the unspeakable death in darkness sounding harsh and terrifying. There was a wildness to the woman’s eyes that told Garok he had better stay down.

Dis grabbed Ellie’s arm and hauled her back. She knelt down and stared Garok in the eye until he looked like he wanted the very ground to swallow him up. “You question my loyalties – or those of my family – ever again, and there will be a reckoning, Garok son of Fodor.” She stood up, never taking her eyes off of him. “Now get out of my sight.”

The dwarf fled.

Dis looked around at the other assembled dwarves. “You will need to make a choice,” she told them. “I am Dis, of the Line of Durin. Will you follow me?”

&…..&…….&…….&……&……&

“We are gathered here today, although I did not summon you, to discuss the rising darkness of our times,” Lord Elrond intoned, glancing at the members of the circle gathered around him in the Great Hall. His three sons surrounded him. There was Thranduil and Legolas, Dain, Dis, Dwalin, Balin, Bard and Bain. They all stared back at him with expressions varying from confusion to boredom. Elrond continued. “Before he left Gandalf told me that he, Saruman and Radagast were in agreement, and asked me to bring this to the attention of the Lords of the East, as they called you all.” Elrond steepled his fingers and said the next part as simply as he could. He was surrounded by dwarves and Thranduil after all. “Once there were five Wizards. There was the White, the Grey, the Brown and two Blue Wizards. Perhaps their names are still what they were once called – Alatar and Pallando. Long ago they journeyed into the East, and there has been no word of them since.”

“How long ago?” Bard asked.

Thranduil yawned elegantly and shrugged. “Centuries and centuries,” he answered, bored.

“Are they dead?” Legolas asked.

“That we do not know,” Elrond said. “None of the Wise have ventured there, and of those that do, no have returned to bring us reports. But with the threat of Mordor once again being made manifest, we need to find them. We need everyone we can get. Therefore a journey must be made into the East to ascertain their fate. We need someone we can trust. One of you must do this.”

There was silence for a moment, but it was quickly broken - unsurprisingly to Legolas - by one of the youngest and most naive among them.

“I will go,” Lord Elrond’s youngest son said. “I need to learn more of the lands in the south and east.”

Legolas eyed the young human, and remembered his father’s words about his old friend, Arathorn, and wondered all sorts of things. 

“Be careful, little brother,” Elladan mocked.

“Yeah,” Elrohir chimed in, “there’s dangerous men in the south.”

“And women,” Elladan said.

“And Dark Lords,” Elrohir added, winking exaggeratedly.

"Yeah, Dark Lords who just got utterly trounced by our grandmother, and now are sulking," Elladan said, pride infusing his words.

Lord Elrond waited patiently for the antics to stop and then turned towards Dain, as leader of the dwarves from the Iron Hills.

“It’s naw our problem, laddie,” the dwarf-lord said dismissively, not even looking up from picking his nails.

“Thorin wouldn’t have agreed,” Balin said, eyeing his cousin disapprovingly.

“My cousin, the king, is dead. I am king now,” Dain said, as though it was the end of the discussion.

Dwalin jumped to his feet, a hand on the hilt of the knife he wore in his belt. “How dare you!”

“Thorin Oakenshield was a hero,” Lord Elrond broke in, hoping to diffuse tensions, “a great warrior like the kings of Dwarves in the First Age, when the world was young. The blood of Durin ran almost pure in him. As it did with his nephews. We will not see his like again. He was the last.”

“He is not the last.” Dis stood up. She fixed the elf-lord with her cold, dark eyes. “I am a daughter of Durin. And my Line is not yet ended. I too will go.”

She did not know how she looked in that moment; long-haired, fierce-eyed, keen and commanding. Her voice, low for woman’s, was a raspy growl. Her intonation was as clear and precise as Thorin’s. She was every-inch a queen. Legolas watched Lord Elrond’s face register this. 

Dain looked at her for the first time. “Don’t be ridiculous, Dis,” he growled. 

Dis fixed her cousin with a faintly pitying look. “You may hide behind your stone walls all you like, Dain. But wishing the monsters away will do nothing but get our people killed. A darkness is coming, and Thorin would have fought it. It is a shame that you will not do the same, but I will not stand by and watch darkness descend without a fight.”

Legolas started, the words echoing in his head, spoke by this queen of dwarves and by the elf-woman he had lost, with long red hair. He wanted to laugh bitterly, but he didn’t.   
Instead he spoke.

“And I will go with you both.”

Dis inclined her head in acceptance and Estel looked faintly surprised. Dwalin looked between the three of them and shook his head. “Then I’m going too.”

“No!” Dis' response was immediate.

“If you think for one second –“

“Dwalin.” He fell silent. The gathering looked at Dis in surprise. No one could get Dwalin to silence that quickly. Balin smiled sadly. No one could except Thorin. “I need you here,” Dis said. She left unspoken that she needed him to keep Dain in check. There would be no coronation while she was gone. Dain might have the larger army, but she had the better claim. Like Thorin, she was descended from Durin on both her mother and her father’s side. 

Dwalin was clearly unhappy with this decision. “Then you’re taking Ellie,” he all but ordered. “She’s going with you,” he insisted.

Dis smiled. “Yes, I rather suspect she will.”

Bard cleared his throat. “Well, now that that’s finished, I suggest we move on to other matters.” He glanced between Dis and Dain but clearly did not want to even approach that subject. “The reconstruction of Dale continues and we would like to extend our thanks to the Dwarves of Erebor for their help in this regard………” He looked up and his attention was caught by someone at the end of the room. “Oh,” he interrupted himself, somewhat embarrassed, “Dwalin.” He turned to the crusty dwarf. “My daughter Tilda asked me to remind you about the pony rides you promised her.”

Dwalin turned red, Bard avoided everyone’s eyes, and Thranduil started sniggering, which he hastily turned into a cough when Elrond glared at him. Elladan and Elrohir’s eyes lighted up with mischief and Legolas groaned. He could just imagine where this was going to go.

&……&……&……&……&……&

Eliriel was waiting for Lord Elrond after the meeting. She knew a master manipulator when she saw one. She fell in step with him. “That was very well done.” She had a quiet, hesitant voice, as though convinced every time she spoke that someone was going to yell at her. Or call her stupid.

Elrond looked at her carefully. Estel had told him who she was, but he could see nothing exceptional about her. There was a rumor among the dwarves about her and a balrog, but Elrond dismissed that as blind gossip. Only one of the Children of Illuvatar had ever managed to kill a balrog and he had been an elf-lord of high birth, powerful and ancient. But he saw no reason why he should be less than polite to this small, mortal woman. And she had seen what he was up to, so she must be reasonably bright.

“Thank you. No one else noticed.”

“That is why I stand on the edge. One sees so much more than being in the middle.”

“And what did you see?” He asked, mildly curious.

“You want them to bond. You see potential in all of them, and you and Gandalf are preparing them for Sauron’s return.”

He stopped and turned to face her. “You will go with them?”

She nodded. 

“To help them bond?” he couldn’t control the slight incredulity in his voice.

She turned red and looked down at her feet. “No. They don’t need my help with that. They all have similar personalities. They will manage it on their own. But they might need someone to protect them.”

“Why?” Elrond wanted to grab her. “What do you know? Should I send Elladan and Elrohir with them?”

She shook her head again, still refusing to meet his eyes. “No. I will be enough.”

Elrond highly doubted that.

&……&……&……&……&……&

“Legolas.” Thranduil grabbed him and pulled him aside after the meeting was over. “Why are you doing this?”

Legolas pulled out of his father’s grasp and looked up at the elf-king. Thranduil was fair and cold, selfish and fickle and often unreasonable. But he was still his father. He deserved some sort of explanation. “I cannot go back.” He stared at his father and left unsaid all the reasons why; Tauriel’s banishment, his father’s increasingly isolationist policies, and Thranduil’s abandonment of both men and dwarves which led to the death of Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews, were only the most recent.

Perhaps his father finally understood how much he had screwed up by the expression on Legolas’ face. Whatever the case though, Thranduil took a deep breath. 

“I am glad that you go with Aragorn. I told you once that his father was a good man. I believe his son can be a great one.”

“And the dwarf?” Legolas bluntly asked his father. There was a anger in him that surprised event he elf-prince at his father's callousness as regarded Thorin and his nephews. Even now Thranduil had nothing but contempt for that family, and through his actions had left them to die until now all that remained was a broken dwarf-woman who had lost everyone she loved.

Thranduil’s face took on his usual expression of scorn. “She is as proud and stubborn as her brother. She will come to the same end.”

But Legolas had seen the still bodies of Dis’ sons, cut down far too soon. He had stood high above in silent vigil with the dwarfs over Thorin Oakenshield’s still form on a river of ice. And he promised himself that Dis would not suffer that fate. 

&……&……&……&……&……&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endnote: And we’re off. Now the story will split in two. We’ll mostly follow Dis, Legolas, Aragorn and Eliriel on their adventure, but we’ll find out what’s happening in Erebor and Dale at times as well. Dwalin and Sigrid are just too good to leave hanging. And even Dain’s got some growing to do. Thank you for your reviews.


	5. Plots and Fights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything from The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings. And yes, I have shamelessly borrowed my Dark Dwarves from Terry Pratchett, so I don’t own the original concept for them either. Also, I have made Dis the eldest of the siblings because it makes her relationship with Thorin much more interesting, and because the movies aged Thorin down a bit. Maybe one day I’ll write a prequel with Thorin and Dis, if anyone wants me to?

&…..&……&……&……&……&

Legolas didn’t sleep in the Lonely Mountain, but in Bard’s newly-claimed palace in Dale. The newly appointed king – who had yet to be crowned – had offered a room in the castle for the Elven Prince when he learned that Legolas had no wish to go back to Mirkwood or his father.

“It’s the least I can do in thanks to you for saving my children,” Bard told him.

Legolas had wanted to say that it was Tauriel who had followed those orcs, not him. But he supposed that he had saved Sigrid, Bain and Tilda even though – if left up to him – those children might have been dead by now.

Looking around at the men and dwarves busily working through the winter to rebuild this city of men, Legolas was struck by how much change had occurred in this place over only a matter of months.

And all thanks to the crazy antics of a wizard, a hobbit and thirteen dwarves, he thought in slight amusement. The thoughts turned dark.

And one beautiful, dead elf-woman.

Legolas pushed himself out of bed and told himself firmly to not think about it anymore. He was doing what he could to move on and to honor the dead. The least he could do for   
Tauriel and for Thorin Oakenshield was to protect Dis. The best he could do for his father was to tell the elf-king, by his own son’s very absence from the woodland kingdom, that his behavior was unacceptable. He had once again left good people to die because of his own prejudices and fears.

Legolas would not be like his father. He was not like his father.

And the best he could do for himself in this situation was to see something new. He had been mired in Mirkwood for far too long. So he would go with the dwarf-queen on her mission from Gandalf, and her would protect her, as well as that strange mortal woman who followed the queen around like a shadow.

He just wasn’t sure about that Aragorn Estel. The boy had a look of trouble about him.

There was a quiet and firm knock on his door. Legolas hazarded a quick glance in the mirror, but found that he looked perfectly respectable. As always.

“Come,” he ordered.

Sigrid entered, pushing the door open with her foot and balancing a tray in her hands. She smiled at him and wished him ‘Good Morning.’

“I’ve brought breakfast,” she said, placing the tray on the plain, wood table by the window. She paused, looking out of the bare pillars, and watched the bustling taking place in the palace courtyard. “It’s not a very large castle, thank goodness, but it does require a lot of upkeep. Father says we’ll need servants, but I have no idea how we’ll pay them. All the money we found in Great-Grandfather’s hidden cellars has gone into the reconstruction.”

Legolas moved up beside her. She looked like a princess, even if a poor one. Her hair was beautifully braided and her skirts were nicely made even if the cloth was poor. Legolas made a mental note to send word to his father to present the family of Bard with Elven cloth for the mortal-king’s coronation in the spring.

“The new king under the mountain has given Dale nothing yet?” Legolas asked, watching the mountain, and the steady line of dwarves moving into and out of it.

Sigrid shook her head. “No, he has not.” She didn’t look surprised. “But our agreement was with Thorin Oakenshield, not his cousin, Dain. I told father not to expect any gold from the dwarves.”

Legolas thought about this. “And what about Lady Dis?”

“What about her?”

“It seems that the dwarves are moving towards an internal disagreement over whether Dis or Dain should rule.”

Sigrid shook her head. “It will not be a disagreement for long. Dain has the larger force. Logically he will prevail. Plus there is the fact that Dis is a woman. She might be the last of her line, but Dain is a close cousin. And male.” She grimaced. “Whenever there is an option between a man and a woman, the man will be chosen.”

Legolas heard the bitterness in her voice. He looked at her.

Sigrid tried to smile. “Bain is a good boy. And brave. He is an invaluable help to our father, and the people are reassured that their king has an heir.”

Legolas frowned. “He has three heirs.”

“That may be how it is done among Elves, but it is not how it’s done among men and dwarves.” She frowned towards the mountain again. “It might even be worse among dwarves, given the uneven distribution they have between male and female.”

“It was the same among Elves as well,” Legolas admitted, “but millennia of warfare made it a bit more equal. Elven women died just the same as the men did.”

Sigrid nodded. “Yes, that is what Gudrun says.”

“Who?”

“The woman who led the charge during the Battle. She told the women and the old that they would all die hiding like cowards if they stayed. She prevented father from being overrun after……….your father retreated.”

Legolas felt shame over his father’s actions, but Sigrid quickly but a hand on his arm. “The actions of our family are not our fault. We are not them, and we do not have to be. We can make another choice. You did that, during the battle. You stood beside Tauriel and the dwarves until the end.”

“Much good it did.” The words slipped out before Legolas had a chance to sensor them.

“But still you tried. And Dis does not blame you, does she? Nor does Eliriel.”

Legolas shook his head. “I do not know what either of them think. I just know that I lost everyone I set out to save that day.”

Sigrid squeezed his arm gently before letting go. “Perhaps Thorin felt that way himself, by the end. Or maybe it started when he had to watch his people burn from a dragon and then slowly descend into poor and mocked wanderers on the Earth. But he kept going, didn’t he? He kept fighting. And he refused to be like his Grandfather, from all accounts.”

“He fell to the dragon sickness, my father said, just like Thror did.”

“But he threw it off. Bofur told me that Thorin threw off the dragon sickness, and the power the Arkenstone holds over men, by himself. He saw what he was becoming, and he refused to let it happen. If that is not hope that darkness will pass in time, I do not know what is.”

“But still they died.” Legolas frowned. He could not see the same hope that she did. 

“But still we live,” Sigrid argued. “And we will not let their sacrifice be in vain. We will rebuild. We will continued to hold the darkness at bay. And in doing so, we will honor them.”

Legolas looked at her, assured in her wisdom. But she had not lost anyone close to her yet. Even her slight feelings for the dwarf-prince had had no more than a single night to grow. Perhaps time and hardship would embitter her as well. Legolas hoped not, but he had the foresight of his kin, and he saw darkness in her future.

She moved towards the door, skirts rustling softly. “Do not despair, Legolas. Both of us must keep going. We have work to do.”

“I will not give in, if you will not,” Legolas said, looking at her seriously. “Fight for what you want, Sigrid.”

Her smile was wry and whimsical. “That’s the trick, isn’t it? What is it that I want? But I promise I will fight for it when I figure that out.”

She made to close the door and then stopped. “Oh, I almost forgot the reason I brought your breakfast up myself. There was a messenger from the Lady Dis. She requests your presence at Erebor for the noon meal. I think she’s planning to go over your new mission with you.” She looked slightly wistful. “I may not be a fighter, but all those new lands to explore sound wonderful.”

And then she was gone.

&……&……&……&……&……&

Lord Elrond and his three sons were lodged with the entire contingent from Rivendell in the western section of Dale. Most of these soldiers and courtiers were heading home. As Erestor, Elrond’s majordomo, told the prince, the Elves of Rivendell saw no need to involve themselves in an internal Dwarven matter. As soon as Dis and Dain worked out who would rule the House of Durin, the House of Elrond would be happy to send representatives to the coronation. And that was all he would officially say on the matter.

Erestor privately told Legolas though, that the Elves were placing bets on who would come out on top. Even Elrond and his sons had gotten involved. Apparently the twins supported Dis and both Elrond and Estel were for Dain.

Legolas shook his head. He was mildly interested to learn which way his father thought the power struggle would go, but Thranduil had retreated back to his forest stronghold and   
Legolas had no true desire to contact him so soon. Some distance was needed for the both of them.

“Young Estel is not here, my lord,” Erestor said. “He left early this morning with his brothers to investigate the dwarvish armory. If you follow them now, you might still catch them there. They have the Noldor love of smith craft,” the elf said proudly.

Legolas internally grimaced and showed himself out.

On his way towards Erebor he decided to take a short-cut through the city by crossing the totally demolished southern sections. It was supposed to be disserted by order of Bard until the spring, but he heard the voices long before they came into view, and made sure that he was not noticed. Scaling a crumbling building, he avoided the dwarven look-out and got as close as he dared to try and hear the words.

Several dozen, heavily-armed dwarves were gathered together, amid the ruins of this city of men, talking in hushed tones in kuzdul. Legolas could make out random words, but that was about it. He did make out the names of both Dis and Dain, and when the convocation broke up, he waited for the dwarves to leave first before he followed them from a distance and thought dark thoughts about what they were up to. He was sure it couldn’t be anything good.

Conspiracies generally led to bloodshed.

The gate leading out from Dale to Erebor had been cleared and reinforced. It was guarded by several men and two women, who watched Legolas pass among the other men and dwarves but made no comment.

A figure dropped down right next to him as he cleared the arch. The elven prince hadn’t even heard a sound and almost jumped, but he controlled the movement and turned to his right to find the human woman, Eliriel, striding next to him. She was still wearing her strange garb of black boots and a short, black dress. Her knees were bare and knobby, and her hair was a tangled mess. She pushed her glasses up on her nose and glanced at him. Her eyes were warm and dark. They were honest eyes, eyes which held no secrets. 

Those people were often the most dangerous; you could not see their true thoughts until their actions spoke for them.

She didn’t offer any kind of greeting. “You heard,” she said, darting straight into conversation. 

Legolas examined her carefully. “If you mean ‘heard part of a dwarvish conspiracy,’ then yes. But I do not know what it is about.” From her manner he could tell that she had listened to them as well, but he had not seen her and this mildly annoyed him. The woman was extremely noticeable in her foreign clothing and strange features.

“One of their number is planning to assassinate Dis,” she said, voice distant.

Legolas stopped walking and stared at the strange woman. “You are sure?” he asked at last.

“Yes, but I am not sure who it is. They have mentioned no names, but I think it is just one or two of them at the most who plan to do the deed itself. They want her out of the way, but fear attacking a member of the House of Durin.”

“They would kill their own queen,” Legolas said in disbelief. He rolled his eyes. “Why does that not surprise me?”

He felt Eliriel’s glare but she didn’t say anything.

Legolas and Eliriel continued walking. The dwarves were far ahead of them, almost to the doors of the mountain. Snow trickled down from the slate grey sky and a cold wind blew from the north. Eliriel’s hands were blue and she held them under her armpits while her teeth chattered. 

“Why?” Legolas asked at last. “I thought that this was to be decided between Dis and Dain without bloodshed. They are family.”

“And Elves have never shed blood in their own family? Kin slaying kin?” The woman’s eyes were far too knowing.

“Not the Sindar,” Legolas said with finality. 

“How about the Second Sacking of Doriath?” she challenged. “Were not there Sindar among the people of the Sons of Feanor?”

“How do you know about that?”

“I’m good at history. And these dwarves are too. Or they think they are. These are the Dark Dwarves, the old traditionalists. They are the ones who go into the most dangerous areas of the Earth, and make it safe for others to come in. They are brave and……foolhardy some would say. They are also admirable and many dwarves look up to them. They hold power and thus they have become convinced that what they say is what all other dwarves will do. Dwarves are secretive.”

Legolas rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, yes, don’t be prejudiced. Sometimes they have a right to be. Often they are treated like scum by other races.”

“Their secretive natures do not help with that.”

“Yes, it’s a catch-22 isn’t it?”

“A what?”

Eliriel looked mildly flustered. “Never mind. It just means it’s a cycle of self-destruction they can’t get out of. Anyway, the Dark Dwarves did not like it when Thorin…….fell in love with me. But he was Thorin, their undisputed king, and they only had to deal with me for a couple of years before they were rid of my presence. And…….Thorin’s heir was always his eldest nephew. But then they heard that Kili fell in love with an elf. No offense, Legolas, but if a human is bad, an elf is worse.”

Legolas glared at her now.

“In their eyes at least. I like elves.” She waved a hand at him. “Stop trying to distract me. Anyway, so they had another member of Thorin’s immediate family falling for a species not their own. This was unacceptable. And now they have Dis, who is female. Women do not mine. Women do not fight. And women do not rule, in Dwarven culture. Most of the time, the two genders are completely separate in their activities, and thus there is no conflict. But Dis challenged this stereotype a long time ago. Did you know that when she was still princess of Erebor, she asserted her right to be queen after her father Thrain?”

Legolas had never known of this.

Eliriel smiled like a shark. “Yes. She is the firstborn, you see. She saw no reason why Thorin should be king after their father instead of her.”

Legolas was flashing back to Sigrid and her younger brother, Bain.

“Yes,” Eliriel agreed, without him saying anything. “Things never really change that much, do they? All you need to know about it is that Dis gained supporters and tried to get her grandfather to declare her heir instead of Thorin. They were both so very young at the time. And Frerin, their youngest brother, was only a child. If their mother had still been alive it might have worked. Instead Thror had her thrown into the dungeons. Thorin was able to get her out, but Thrain married her off to a minor nobleman in the Blue Mountains, so low in status and so mild in personality that he essentially nullified her as a political opponent to Thorin’s rule.”

They were almost at the mountain. Legolas saw that Balin, the stately old dwarf, was waiting for them. “So that’s why Thorin led them to the Blue Mountains after Erebor fell.”

“Yes. Frerin had been visiting Dis, and so he had been spared the wrath of the dragon, so Thorin was left to lead them to his sister. And by the time he arrived, Thorin discovered that he would make a good king. So king he was. But if Thorin was undisputed king, Dis has always ruled the Blue Mountains as his deputy. She did not begrudge him because he was a great leader and a peerless warrior. She loved and respected him, and she raised her sons to be kings after him, without regret.”

“What happened to her husband?”

They had reached Balin, whom Eliriel gave a quick hug. The old dwarf had caught the tail end of their conversation. “He went on a mission, before Kili was born, and after the Battle of Azanulbizar, to find Thrain. He never returned. Some of his men were found mauled and eaten, and he was declared dead.”

The old dwarf waved them both to follow him. “This way, Prince Legolas. Lady Dis is expecting you.”

Legolas looked at Eliriel and raised an eyebrow. Does he know about the plot against, Dis? He asked her, silently with a look.

Eliriel shook her head and, in passable and slightly halting Sindarin, said, “No one knows except us. We take turns shadowing her.”

“Why me?” Legolas asked her, surprised she would ask an elf, the son of his old enemy, to protect Thorin’s sister.

The look Eliriel shot him was measuring. “Because you were with him at the end.” And still he died and you did not, was left unsaid. “This time you will not fail.”

Legolas wasn’t sure if that was an assertion or a threat.

Lady Dis was waiting for them in the practice courts. It happened as she was walking towards them, still several hundred feet away. A figure all but detached itself from the stone wall, sword swinging. Eliriel screamed at Dis to duck and ran forwards, as Legolas grabbed an arrow and fired it right into the attackers skull. Dis came up, her own sword at the ready, as Eliriel reached her side. “Where’s the second one?” Eliriel cried back to Legolas. “Do you see him?”

Dwarves all around them had stopped practicing and were yelling to one another. Several had grabbed weapons and were making their way to Dis’ side. They looked like they wanted to help her but Eliriel yelled at them in dwarvish and they held back. Legolas moved up to the dwarf-queen’s side.

“The second one is gone already,” he told them. “But it is unlike that he will give up. He will merely bide his time.”

Dis sheathed her sword. “This is getting out of hand,” she said. Yelling was heard up and down the corridors. No doubt all of Erebor would find out within moments. “We need to tell Dain.”

Dain’s bellowing could be heard several halls away. “Let me at them!” he howled. “Where are the miserable bastards?! I’ll tear them apart with my teeth! Attacking the king’s sister!”

He calmed down considerably when he saw Dis walking towards him obviously unharmed, although he did give Legolas a nasty look. The elf-prince quickly took a step back and put distance between himself and the dwarf-queen, but Eliriel refused to budge from her position.

“Fat lot of help you were, Dain,” she snapped. “All your posturing as king under the mountain, and your men are a lot of vipers!”

Dis clamped a hand quickly over her sister-in-law’s mouth. “You know what I will do next,” she hissed at the human woman. “Go and get ready. I will handle things here.”

Eliriel grumbled but she left. Dis looked around, saw Legolas standing in the shadows, and nodded. Dwalin and Nori burst through the king’s counselors and took up flanking positions behind Dis, as did a dwarf that vaguely looked like Dis’s eldest son, Fili, and who Legolas guessed must be close kin of Dis’ deceased husband.

“Never knew what Thorin saw in her,” Dain said, loudly, after Ellie had left.

“Why you -,” Dwalin started, as some of Dis’ people from the Blue Mountains also started shouting.

“The feeling is mutual, I assure you,” Dis said icily, and loud enough to silence the bickering. “I was attacked, Dain, in my own home, in the realm of my kin, Durin’s folk. They were some of yours. Tell me how that is possible.” It was not a question, it was a command.

“They weren’t -,”

“Do not place the blame on others! They were dwarves of the Iron Hills, therefore you are their Lord. Tell me you knew nothing of this.”

“I would never -,”

“Then you have no control over your subjects? They have no respect for your orders and wishes?” Dis’ voice was implacable and inescapable.

Dis took a step forward. “I have faced enough death in this place. I will not be attacked by my own kin. This will be dealt with immediately, Dain.”

“Of course,” Dain agreed, hurriedly. “I will -,”

“I will deal with it, myself,” Dis interrupted. “Order every fighting dwarf to present himself in the furnace room in one hour. My people will be there as well.” She turned and walked away, Dwalin, Nori and the other dwarf following in her wake, and Legolas shadowing them all.

“What are you going to do?!” Dain yelled after her. Legolas wondered the same.

But Dis didn’t answer.

Dwalin was rapidly whispering in Dis’ ear. Legolas’ keen ears had no trouble hearing him. “You plan to call them out?”

Dis nodded. “Ancient dwarf tradition. Should appeal to these radicals.”

“And then what? You can’t leave them alive. Not after they have attacked you.”

“Executing dwarves would only make Dain’s people even more wary of me. I will defeat them with minimal bloodshed and I will pardon them. But Ellie will keep an eye on them, and if they put a single foot out of line, then she will kill them. Or I will.”

“Not if I get to them first,” Dwalin growled. He paused. “Why involve Ellie? Your demonstration would be much more effective if she were not involved.”

Dis turned and faced her cousin seriously. “I will not have my brother’s actions questioned, not even in death. He loved that woman. She is family. And they will accept it, just as they will accept my son’s choice. One way, or another.”

&……&……&……&……&……&

Legolas arrived with the Sons of Elrond early and took a spot in the back. As the furnace room filled up he listened with half an ear as Ori told some dwarves to his right about Thorin facing down Smaug in this very chamber. He kept a watchful eye out on the entrance and was among the first to notice Dis’ arrival. She was dressed all in black, with silver chainmail. Her hair was braided in the fashion Legolas knew was reserved for dwarven queens alone.

She was flanked by Dwalin on one side and by Balin on the other. Dain walked by her side. The heirs of the House of Durin were presenting a unified front to their people.

“Witch!” someone hissed. Someone else echoed the sentiment from across the room, and a low muttering started up. Legolas saw that Eliriel had appeared behind Dis. She had changed from her strange garb. Now she wore the royal dark blue that Thorin had worn as prince of Erebor. The dress was short, with slits in the side for easy movement, and underneath she wore practical black leggings that Tauriel would have approved of. Her hair was intricately braided and bound with Thorin’s own symbol on the metal clips.

She was carrying a sword in a sheath. She approached Dis, ignoring the mutters at her presence, and held out that handle to the dwarf-queen.

It was Orcrist.

“Thorin would have wanted you to have this,” she said. Dis drew the blade cleanly; it’s brilliantly sharp edged gleamed in the glow of the dwarven torches.

Eliriel turned then and glared huffily at the dwarves around her. “And I am not a witch!” she insisted, as though for the hundredth time. She sounded more annoyed and exasperated than truly angry at the accusation and Legolas’ lips twitched. 

Dis stood tall and bestowed everyone there with a challenging look. “I face you with the sword my brother, Thorin Oakenshield, king of Durin’s Folk, used to kill Azog the Defiler.   
If any of you feel that I am unworthy as his successor, step forward.” She said something in Kuzdul which sounded like a challenge.

“The buggers wouldn’t –,” Dain began, but Dis waved him to silence.

After a moment about a dozen dwarves stepped forward. “The witch goes too,” one of them said, pointing his ax at Eliriel, who bared her teeth at him.

And then the fight was on.

Legolas soon saw that the mortal woman had a fighting style that was fast, brutal and unpredictable. Where Tauriel had gone for long-range attacks, and was all grace and fluidity,   
Eliriel clearly favored close-quarter and unarmed moves. The only weapon she carried was a small knife. Her grin as she took down two heavily armed dwarves at once was   
mischievous and exhilarated. It was the first time Legolas had ever seen her smile, and watching it, along with her reddish-hair flying out around her, she reminded him of Tauriel.

Dis fought like Thorin; all speed and power and ferocity. She had ice-like concentration as the sword whistled about her. Legolas wondered if they had sparred together, the way he and Tauriel had done. Three dwarves were down and injured in a matter of moments. Legolas saw Estel’s hand inching towards his sword and he halted the young man’s movement. He could see Balin holding back Dwalin as well. Anyone else interfering and what Dis wanted to accomplish here would be lost. 

As a dwarf moved to attack Dis from behind, Eliriel punched him in the throat, kicked his legs out and would have buried her knife straight through his eye socket had not Dis, quick as lightning, held her back. Eliriel obeyed the dwarf-queen, although she did kick her prone enemy hard in the face as she stood up and moved away.

The remaining dwarves were holding position and refusing to move in for the attack.

Dis arched an eyebrow. “Anyone else?” she asked, “Or have you had enough already?”

There was silence.

“Throw down your weapons,” Dain snarled. There was a clatter as the dwarves obeyed. The rest of the Hall was deadly silent. “You’re all going to be put to death for attacking Dis.   
Mahal’s sodding balls, what are we coming to, dwarves attacking members of the House of Durin! Guards!”

“HOLD!” Dis bellowed. The guards shifted awkwardly, but didn’t step forward. Dis gave her cousin a stern look. “As the one who was attacked, I decide the punishment.”

Eliriel discreetly stepped back from Dis and stood beside Dwalin, although her eyes never let up scanning the dwarves for further threats.

She looked at the injured dwarves by her feet. “Get up.” They hauled themselves to their feet, clutching arms and sides and legs, and hobbled over to their companions. Dis walked right up to them and sheathed Orcrist in a way meant to show the cessation of hostilities. “Your punishment is to be put on permanent rotation for those assigned to work on the city of Dale. You have proven yourselves to be a disgrace to the name of dwarf, therefore you are unfit to help rebuild our home. But you will keep your lives, and when the city is finished I will reassess and decided whether or not you have earned some measure of redemption through your actions. I will remember all of your faces. Do not think you can hide from me. Now get out of my sight.”

The dozen dwarves slunk out. Everyone else in the room remained still, fearing to come to the dwarf-queen’s attention.

Dain, of course, was not intimidated. “That’s right, ya bastards! And if anyone else thinks of repeating a stunt like that, their guts will be beaten out of them before you can say Khahum menu rkhas shirumundu!” 

Some of the dwarves looked fairly nervous and Dain obviously decided that his job was done. “Not get back to work, you lazy buggers!” he bellowed, and everyone dispersed. 

“My lady,” he said, formally holding out an arm to Dis. The two of them left the furnace room together.

Estel turned towards Legolas. “Elbereth’s stars,” he swore. “The drama around here is a killer.”

“Well, nobody’s died yet,” Elrohir piped up, “so……..technically -”

Estel shoved his brother and Elladan shook his head at them both. “Want to come and spare with us, now that the real fighting seems to be over?” he asked the Sindarin prince.   
When Legolas hesitated he added, “Estel here needs all the practice he can get, and so you can pretty much toss him around like a rag doll while we critique everything he does.”

“Hey!” Aragorn yelled. 

“It’s a rough life being the baby of the family,” Elrohir mock commiserated. “We used to do this to Arwen, but then you came along…….” He trailed off suggestively.

For some reason Estel blushed. Elladan and Elrohir sniggered and Legolas was positive he heard one of them mutter, “Calf love.”

Legolas nodded. “I will meet you there.” Eliriel hadn’t moved from her spot and was giving him a strange look. He moved over to her side and raised an eyebrow.

She looked awkward and embarrassed. “I hate to even ask this……..so I’m just going to come right out and say it. No apologies………” She trailed off and took a deep breath. “The dwarves…………really don’t like an elf lying next to their king and princes –.”

Legolas interrupted her before she could speak any further. His voice was like ice. “I will send word to my father. Tauriel will be moved back to her home, where she belongs.” He walked away without looking back.

&…...&…….&…….&……&……&

King Thranduil himself came to collect Tauriel’s stone sarcophagus. It was nighttime, as he had planned it, so he didn’t run into his son, or either of the Durins. Balin was gotten out of bed and led the elf-king to the chamber before retiring again. Thranduil took one look at the mortal woman waiting for him and sent his men out with orders to come back only when he called.

He inspected the short, plain-looking mortal with her reddish hair, square, metal glasses and dwarven attire. He gave her a haughty look. “I heard rumors that Thorin Oakenshield found himself a mortal wench, but never believed them until now. How utterly……demeaning of him.”

The woman merely rolled her eyes. “My name is Eliriel, and don’t look so smug and arrogant, elf-king.” She jabbed a finger back at the four stone sarcophagi behind her. “And do you want to tell me why that one, which supposedly houses, Tauriel’s body, is empty?”

Thranduil remained silent.

The woman took a threatening step forward and poke him sharply in the stomach. “If you don’t tell me what you’re up to, I’m going to tell Legolas everything,” she said.

Thranduil cursed Thorin Oakenshield and his meddling, human woman to the Void and back, but he had no choice except to tell her.

&……&……&……&……&……&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Dain was going to be a much more petty and stupid of a character, but I loved him in the movie, and I thought it would be much more interesting to see what would happen in a power struggle between two worthy royals than between one worthy and one who was clearly inferior. We’ll see more of him learning to actually be a king when Dis goes off on her adventure. Dwalin and Balin will definitely be involved there too. But next chapter we’re off into the wilderness with Dis, Legolas, Aragorn and Eliriel. By the way, what do you think is up with Thranduil? He’s a very suspicious elf-king.


	6. The Funeral of Thorin Oakenshield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing from Middle-Earth. This chapter will feature Dwalin and …….. finally the setting off on the journey. Legolas and Aragorn also get a tense-filled scene. Grief is hard to write, because it takes a long time for anyone to heal, and both Dis and Eliriel are hiding it for the moment. It’ll all come out eventually, but you get glimpses of it here from them. Legolas too, although he’s choosing to isolate himself from new friendships as a means of coping. 
> 
> Like all my stories, this thing just keeps getting bigger and bigger. I swear, I can only do one-shots or novel-sized stories. Hopefully all the developing plot-lines don't overwhelm me, otherwise I'll have to start culling somehow. And by that I mean doing a George R. R. Martin and killing people off. Just kidding.

&……&……&……&……&……&

Dwalin always woke early. It was an ingrained habit since the Goblin Wars and he had never lost it all throughout the years of exile. The first few moments, as he looked at the ceiling and watched the sunlight creep across the intricately chiseled stone, he felt at peace. It was only after several seconds that he remembered what had happened.

He remembered that Thorin was dead; his king. He remembered the still bodies of Dis’ sons, Fili and Kili; so young and fierce and wonderful. 

He remembered Fili smoking his pipe and sharping his knives. The young prince had learned to always carry one around with him from Dwalin. He remembered Kili beating everyone else at archery, and his reckless grin as he always pushed himself harder and harder to impress his famous and distant uncle.

He remembered Thorin’s proud and happy smile whenever he saw his sister’s sons; as close to him as his own sons.

He remembered Fili getting stabbed in the back by the Defiler and dropped like refuse to land at Kili’s feet.

He remembered Kili, lying in a pool of blood, while a red-haired elf-lass wept over him and kissed his cold, dead lips.

He remembered Thorin’s stubborn will to continue on even through all the hardships life hurled at him, and how the king always turned towards Dwalin, himself, when planning strategy. He remembered him always being in the forefront of every adventure, effortlessly commanding, always protecting, and never giving up. Never.

He remembered Thorin, bruised and bloody, his Elven sword impaling the filth that had hunted him his entire life, his eyes blank and unseeing forever more as he left Dwalin behind, as he went where Dwalin could not follow. Thorin was now in Mahal’s Halls with his nephews, having adventures that Dwalin could no longer be a part of.

Because he had failed.

Dwalin always remembered that he had failed.

He remembered it every time he looked into Dis’ empty, tired eyes, and at the fragile rigidity of Ellie’s stiff shoulders and constant frown.

He remembered it every single morning when he woke up in his nice, spacious room.

Most days he didn’t even want to get out of bed anymore after that, but he had learned that when he did not, Balin would come and annoy him enough that eventually he would concede defeat and attempt to find something useful to do.

The days when Bard and his children visited were the easiest for him to bear. Dwalin would never admit it, but he loved children. Fili and Kili had seen so much of him growing up that they had started calling him “uncle”, and once he got over his antipathy against Bard, Dwalin found that he had a soft spot for his youngest, Tilda; that little girl had fire in her.

“What are we going to do today?” She was skipping next to him, clutching her doll, as they headed away from her siblings and down into the depths of Erebor. 

“Today,” Dwalin told her mock-importantly, “we are visiting the Library.”

“You have a library?”

Dwalin pretended to be indignant. “Of course we have a library! Just because we are dwarves doesn’t mean we don’t read.” He paused. “Of course, I myself never go into the library. Suspicious things, libraries. Full of monsters and………..pages with words on them.” He shuddered theatrically and Tilda giggled.

They were getting to the heavy construction part so Dwalin grabbed a passing helmet, placed it on Tilda’s head, and then swung the little girl up onto his shoulders. His shoes were much thicker than hers and he didn’t want her stepping on anything that might cause an injury.

The library had been a truly magnificent place once, and Balin had placed its renovation under his specific and constant attention. Already the front area had been cleared of debris and the high, vaulted ceilings reinforced. The windows were being taken care of now. New glass was being blown and the old was taken out and cleaned while the metal that held the colorful, stained pieces was – in most cases – re-forged.

Dwalin had already had to sit through several boring meetings with Balin and messengers from Elrond of Rivendell and Lord Ecthelion of Gondor where his brother bargained successfully for copies of famous works from their well-known libraries. The dwarvish manuscripts would have to be found internally or recopied by hand from their crumbling counterparts, and Balin already had a team on that.

Dwalin thought it all incredibly dull, but he was proud of his brother, and knew that the work gave Balin a sense of purpose, something to focus on to take his mind off Thorin for a time. And Tilda’s eyes as she beheld the beautiful room, slowly being restored to glory, made the trip worth it for Dwalin.

She wriggled down from his arms and disappeared amongst the shelves, Dwalin following her.

“I didn’t know there were so many books in the entire world!”

“Most of these are in Dwarvish, lass,” Dwalin told her. “And you wouldn’t want to read them if you could; boring things about forging and building, and old fortifications of the dwarves.”

“Sounds fascinating,” Tilda disagreed. 

Dwalin shook his head. “You say that, but you haven’t read them yet.”

“Will you teach me to read Dwarvish?” Tilda asked, turning to look at him with her big eyes. There were dark circles under them lately. Bard had confided in Dwalin that his youngest was racked by nightmares since the dragon and the battle. Dwalin had never found a remedy for nightmares himself except hard work. He thought maybe that would   
work for Tilda as well.

“Dwarves don’t teach their language to………humans,” he told the little human girl, mock disgustedly. Tilda giggled again. 

“Secretly I am a dwarf,” she whispered. Her eyes grew imploring. “I promise I won’t tell anyone,” she said. “Not even Sigrid.”

Dwalin shook his head. Balin would not approve, but her hopeful eyes were too much for him. If anyone ever found out what a softie he was, he would beat their faces in. “Alright, lass,” he said, “but we tell no one.”

Tilda whooped in glee and took off down another aisle. Dwalin tried to keep her in sight. 

Three aisle turnings away and she stopped abruptly. Dwalin found her halted at a table heaped with old and yellowing parchments. She was sifting through them gently as dust flew up under her fingertips. Abruptly she stopped and pulled one out. Dwalin had been examining the sturdiness of the book shelves when he heard her small gasp of “oh.” He turned around to find Tilda staring at him and holding out the parchment.

“Is this………….the king?” she asked, hesitantly. “He looks so young.” She stared at the picture again.

Dwalin moved forwards but it felt like his legs had turned to lead. His hand reached out and took the parchment away from Tilda and, sure enough, there was a portrait of the young Thorin; happy, healthy and smiling.

His hair and beard were braided, and he was dressed in the royal blue he had favored as prince of Erebor. Some artist had captured the vibrancy and clarity of his eyes remarkably well. Dwalin thought it was the betrothal picture Thror had commissioned to be sent to the Lord of the Nogrod for his daughter. Dwalin didn’t even know what had happened to that dwarf-lady. After Erebor fell, the Nogrod had refused to even send troops to Thror at Azanulbizar.

The picture was before the dragon came, before all the hardship and grief. Before all the death. 

“Dwalin,” Tilda said, her voice hesitant like a mouse, and Dwalin realized that his hand was shaking.

Hastily he put the parchment down and cleared his throat. “Yes, that was the king as a young dwarf.”

“Fili and Kili’s uncle?” Tilda’s voice was still hesitant, as though she wanted to know, but wasn’t sure how far to push him.

Dwalin cleared his throat again. “Yes. Their uncle.” He took Tilda’s hand and started leading her towards the exit. “I think it’s time we should leave,” Dwalin told her. 

Tilda was quiet until they reached the entrance. “I’m sorry, Dwalin,” she said, then.

Dwalin stopped in surprise. “Sorry for what?” he growled.

“I’m sorry that he’s……gone. And I’m sorry I talked about him.”

Dwalin took a deep breath. “Lass…,” he began, but in that moment Bard came around the corner, his face relieved when he beheld his daughter.

“Tilda, we’re leaving, sweetheart.”

The little girl dropped Dwalin’s hand and raced over to her father. She still looked upset. Bard looked concerned and glanced at Dwalin.

“What happened?” There was no censure in his tone, merely curiosity and understanding. Dwalin was once again struck by how noble this man was. Since the very beginning he had treated the dwarves like equals and friends. He was truly deserving as king of Dale and the dwarf warrior wondered how it was that he had managed to misjudge the man so badly when they first met. 

Thorin had not misjudged him. And neither had their hobbit; Bilbo.

Dwalin shook his head. “It’s nothing. She just thought she upset me. It’s alright, lass,” he told the little girl. “The dead are all around us, but we can’t forget them. They deserve to be remembered. You just caught me by surprise, is all.”

Tilda peeked out from around her father and studied Dwalin’s expression. See that he was serious, she at last nodded before turning to her father with the resilience of children and saying; “Dwalin’s going to teach me to be a warrior!”

A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Bard’s lips. “Is he indeed?”

Dwalin grimaced but didn’t deny it. He watched as Bard looked around at the still decimated library, and the picture of Thorin Oakenshield still held in Dwalin’s clenched fist. The man’s face grew serious.

“I think, when you’re a bit older, maybe that might be a good idea.”

Dwalin nodded. “She should learn how to defend herself. Being innocent will not save her from the orcs.”

“There’s been too much death already,” Bard agreed, as he said farewell for himself and his daughter and turned away to go back home to Dale.

Dwalin stood in the quiet of the hall, the distant sound of dwarvish hammers ringing in the background, and couldn’t not look at the picture of his king.

Thorin was smiling, his youthful face devoid of lines of sorrow and grief and worry. Dwalin noticed that there were tears running down his cheeks and hastily hid himself in the recesses of the library. He wanted no one to see him like this, and he knew the grief would simply have to run its course.

&……&……&……&……&……&

Dis came upon Thorin’s companions in one of the small antechambers off of the old treasure hall. Distant sounds of bustling could be heard from far off, but the only other sounds in this part of Erebor were the raucous noises coming from the dwarves who had joined Thorin and her sons on the Quest.

She had been looking for Eliriel, but had not been able to find her friend

Somehow, given the sounds of merriment, she knew that alcohol and food were being consumed in copious amounts.

Dis made to enter, but Bofur’s laughing shout arrested her. 

“And do you remember, in Rivendell, when Kili made eyes at that Elven maid and she turned out to be a he!” There was a swell of laughter at this, and Dis, finding she suddenly couldn’t breathe, flattened herself against the wall, out of sight of the door, and couldn’t help but listen. The sharp pain at the sound of her youngest son’s name had been like a dagger to her chest. “He had the gall to tell us he didn’t fancy elven girls, and then what does he do, go all moon-eyed over Tauriel!”

“Thorin and Fili weren’t even surprised,” Balin interjected. “Neither was I, to be honest. The lad has always been fascinated by them. You remember when he was a wee thing, the first time he saw one and wanted to play with her hair?”

“None of us were there, Balin,” Gloin rumbled tolerantly.

“You’re getting slow in your old age!” Bofur put in, cheekily.

Dis heard Balin sigh. “You wish, lads, you wish. But he did, and the elf-maid actually let him braid it and left it in until the party returned back to Lindon. I swear, that boy must have had elven blood in there from somewhere.”

“Yes,” Bofur agreed, “and now he’s dead. And the elf-lass with him. And they’re separated for all eternity.”

“Hush, laddie,” Oin rumbled, into the sudden, pained silence. Dis held her breath, tried not to think of anything at all for a moment, because everything hurt, and noticed that the others appeared to be doing the same thing.

“Where’s Dwalin?” Balin asked then.

“Haven’t seen him in hours,” Oin said. The others voice their agreement with this. Bifur put in that he’d seen Dwalin taking Bard’s daughter, Tilda, in the direction of the library several hours ago now, but no one took him seriously, because it was Bifur, he only spoke ancient Khuzdul and only Dis understood what he was saying.

“He’s been a bit off lately,” Balin mused, but then proceeded on with his story. “And did you all notice that Bard’s eldest, the Lady Sigrid, had a bit of a crush on Fili?”

There was a rumble of agreement from the others.

“Why are we sitting around like a bunch of old women and gossiping?” Nori demanded.

“Old men gossip as well,” Ori argued.

“They do not,” Nori disagreed.

“Just look at Dori,” Ori continued.

“Excuse me?” demanded the prissy voice of their eldest brother.

Bombour started laughing. Nori poked his brother and laughed as well, and Ori quickly edged away from the incoming wrath.

“I don’t think it would have worked out,” Bofur opined, and the incoming argument quieted down again. “Besides, he didn’t even seem to be aware of her.”

“Oh, he was,” Balin disagreed, “but you’re right, it wouldn’t have worked out. Fili knew his duty. He would have been king someday, and he needed to marry a dwarven woman of good family – a princess if we could have ever found one – and had an heir of his own.”

“Thorin got away with it,” Bofur said. The opinionated dwarf always said exactly what was on his mind, and exactly what the others were thinking too. It had been a quality that   
Thorin had respected about him. Balin respected it as well.

“Thorin Oakenshield was one of a kind – a hero reborn. He fell in love with someone as unusual and……well, legendary as him. Fili was different; dutiful, quiet and no hero. He would have made a good king.”

Dis was crying now, silent tears making their way down her cheeks. Her eldest would have made a wonderful king. Instead, now they were stuck with her – bowed down and broken by grief and loss – and her belligerent cousin – who was more army commander than king.

“And Dis ,“ Gloin began.

“The Lady Dis will prove herself,” Balin interrupted. “Of that I have no doubt.”

And on that note, Dis snuck away from the gathering of dwarves. She had heard enough.

It took her another half hour to find what she was looking for; Erebor was a big place.

Dwalin was in the library, back against the wall and smoking a pipe. Next to him was Eliriel, her nose buried in a book.

Dwalin saw her and made to stand up but Dis waved him back. Eliriel didn’t even appear to notice her presence. “Don’t mind her,” Dawlin said. “She’s found a book on dwarvish legends and she’s trying to make out the old Khuzdul.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Eliriel mumbled, but she didn’t seem to be really paying attention. Dis wavered a bit, unsure whether she wanted to sit down next to them, but Eliriel   
proved that she was paying attention because, still without looking up, she demanded of her sister-in-law, “Why have you been crying?”

Dwalin narrowed his eyes at his queen and examined her for injury.

Dis gave a slightly watery smile. “The Company are telling anecdotes of my sons.”

Dwalin winced. “Those bastards,” he muttered, and motioned to Dis to sit down. She took a seat next to Eliriel as the other said, in monotone, “Sounds tedious.” Her words were unsympathetic, but she shifted until her shoulder was brushing Dis’ – all the while continuing to read her book – and her silent presence actually made Dis feel better.

The dwarf-queen engaged Dwalin in conversation, for the dwarf-warrior had spent time as a mercenary with the men of Rhovanion to their south, and he knew something of the path that Dis and the others would take.

The noon-time hour came and went without any of the three noticing, and it was only when the deep, dwarf-horns began to sound a greeting that they left the quiet library. Balin and Dis’ brother-in-law – Fandril – met them on the way to the entrance hall. 

“Our kin have arrived,” Fandril told her, eyes shining. “The Messengers report that many of them wish to stay under your rule here as Queen Under the Mountain. A smaller group is here simply for the funeral and will be returning with me, afterwards, to the Blue Mountains.”

“Easily three thousand strong,” Balin reported. “I don’t know where we’re going to put them.”

“Kick Dain’s folk out,” Dwalin growled and Balin gave him a stern look in reproach. 

Eliriel smirked. “Is Dain down there already?” she asked Balin. Her eyes had a speculative look to them.

Balin appraised her and lifted an eyebrow in interest. He knew where she was going with this. “Yes, they are.”

“They are awaiting Lady Dis before they enter the Moutain,” Fandril said. “My cousin, Alof, is leading them. She’s causing consternation amongst Dain’s group,” he reported with satisfaction.

Dis looked between her kin. “Well, let us welcome them, then.” She turned, Dwalin and Balin falling into place on either side of her.

Eliriel turned to Fandril. “I have to put my book down.” She sounded a bit annoyed. “Not dignified enough, coming before them all with a book in one hand.

&……&……&……&……&……&

Legolas had made his way to the entrance hall at the sound of the horns. Being taller than almost everyone there, he stood at the back and had an unobstructed view of the proceedings. Outside, a long line of dwarves from the Blue Mountains had gathered, awaiting permission from Lady Dis before entering.

Dain had already tried to get them to enter Erebor, but they had not taken him up on his offer. The dwarf-king had resorted to bellowing, but the leader of the dwarves, a fearsome, bearded female with blonde hair and greenish eyes, had told him not to waste his breath. She, and a small contingent, waited just inside the entrance way while Balin went to get the Lady Dis.

Her name was Alof, and she was some kind of kin of Dis’ late husband. All Legolas knew about her was that she made the dwarves from the Iron Hills nervous, and she handled her two-headed axe like someone who knew how to do some damage.

When Lady Dis appeared at the top of the staircase leading from the second level, Alof and her companions took a knee. Flanked by Balin and Dwalin, the dark-haired, stern-faced, beautiful dwarf-queen descended the stair case. She opened her arms wide in greeting and spoke in a booming voice. “Welcome, Alof, of my husband, Vidril’s kind. Enter the Halls of Erebor and be welcome. We are honored by your presence, and by the presence of our kin from the Blue Mountains.”

And she reached Alof and embraced her.

The dwarves of the Blue Mountains poured through the open doors of Erebor, massing in the Great Hall opposite the dwarves of the Iron Hills. The two groups eyed each other with blatant suspicion, but Legolas saw amusement on both the faces of Dis and Alof.

Alof stepped back from her kinswoman. She raised her voice as well as she indicated the dwarves that follow her. “We thank you for your welcome, Lady Dis, and bring you homage as Queen Under the Mountain!”

There was a wave as, almost as one, the dwarves of the Blue Mountain bowed to Dis, and then they stood up and gave a loud “Huzzah!”

“And may I just say…..,”Dain began, moving up to Dis’ side, but then he realized that the Blue Mountain dwarves weren’t paying him the slightest attention. Their focus was riveted on the top of the staircase, upon which Ellie and the blonde-haired male dwarf – who Legolas had heard was Fili and Kili’s uncle on their father’s side – had finally appeared.  
Eliriel turned pale at all the attention and Legolas saw the dwarf discretely grab onto her elbow. As she walked down the staircase the dwarves of the Blue Mountains stood up and held their weapons across their chests, a sign Legolas knew to be that of designating the greatest respect and loyalty. 

The elf-prince’s excellent hearing made out Ellie’s quick whisper to the dwarf walking with her. “Am I famous?”

The dwarf smiled a bit through his beard. “You certainly are. They call you Askad-abzag.”

“Shadow-bane,” Ellie whisper.

“For you killed that which is both shadow and flame.”

Ellie still looked overwhelmed. “Thorin helped,” she muttered, and the dwarf laughed outright now. Dis obviously heard this as well, for she cracked a grin.

“His name has gone down in dwarvish history as well,” the dwarf-queen promised, and then she turned back to her people. “Behold, the Balrog-slayer has returned to us!”

And the dwarves cheered, although Legolas noticed that the dwarves from the Iron Hills did not join in.

&……&……&……&……&……&

The Funeral of Thorin Oakenshield took place as the sun went down.

The final resting place of the dwarf-king and his sister-sons was deep beneath the earth in a magnificent cavern the dwarves had spent several months hewing. There was an underground waterfall across the cavern, and crystals glittered with pale light in the darkness. 

The drums and horns of the dwarves were mournful and powerful and beautiful as they sounded the last march of Thorin and Fili and Kili. 

Legolas followed the House of Durin in the retinue of the Sons of Elrond. Behind him came King Bard of Dale and his family. And behind them came his own father, King Thranduil and a contingent form Mirkwood. Dwarf after Dwarf came after them, until all the carven was full. 

The torches flickered, the deep-throated voices of the dwarves sounded in the depths, and the stone echoed back their grief, too great even for tears, as the stone tombs were laid down, with Thorin in the middle, and on either side of him, his beloved nephews.

Dis did not cry, but her faces was as the stone around her. Eliriel was white as a ghost and her dark eyes looked dead.

When the last echoes of sound had died away, the two women took up the song; Dis’s low, powerful voice beginning. Ellie’s high, clear voice entered in harmony, and together the two melodies moved and intertwined, and Legolas could clearly see the roaring fires of the dwarves, and the rhythmic blows of their tools as they delved ever in the deep places of this world. And he saw also the warriors of the Line of Durin, as they stood between their people and darkness, ever-constant and fearsome in their wrath.

It was the first time that Legolas had ever seen anything beautiful about the dwarven race.

When the song ended there was silence, save for the thundering of the waterfall.

King Bard came forward, and Dis and the Company pulled aside the top of Thorin’s tomb just enough for the man to place the glowing Arkenstone on the clasped hands of the dwarf-king.

And then Dis waved Legolas forward. She had given him Orcrist before the ceremony and explained what she wanted. “You were with him at the end,” she told the elf-prince. “Ellie said you saved each other’s lives. She’s convinced that in another life you would have been friends.”

Legolas didn’t tell her that he thought even in another life they wouldn’t have gotten along, but when she waved him forward he went, and placed Orcrist – it’s blade just slightly exposed – on top of Thorin Oakenshield’s tomb.

The horns sounded again in the deep, and the Ceremony was over.

The dwarves and elves and men slowly filed out of the tomb. Tonight there would be a huge feast, and after all the solemnity, tales would be told and songs would be song, celebrating the lives of Thorin and Fili and Kili.

But as Legolas climbed up the stairs to return to the upper-levels, he looked behind him and saw Eliriel standing motionless before Thorin Oakenshield’s tomb. She was alone in the descending darkness. Legolas did not know how long she stayed there, but she never came to the Feast, and he suspected she stood vigil throughout the long night.

&……&……&……&…..&……&

Dis walked into the room where Dain was meeting with his advisors the next morning. Parchments were strewn about them as the dwarves argued loudly about the terms coming to them from Bard, king of Dale, and Thranduil, king of the Woodland Realm. Everyone was more on edge than usual because they were hung-over from the feast the night before.  
Dis had not been invited to this meeting and had not really minded. Dain was still smarting from the little show yesterday, where he had been all but ignored by the dwarves from the Blue Mountains. She suspected that he would have handled it a bit better it the deference had just been to her, but to be passed over – the famous Ironfoot – in favor of a human woman, no matter what she had done to protect the Line of Durin, was too much for his pride to bear.

She had been busy anyway, helping to settle Alof’s followers within the walls of Erebor. Then there had been her own preparations for leaving to oversee. Luckily Eliriel seemed to   
be handling most of those, while Legolas was a constant – albeit extremely noticeable – shadow as he guarded her.

This had caused comment as well, but Dis thought it was useful comment. The fact that her two visible protectors were an elf-prince and a human woman was a silent rebuke to her own people on their level of trustworthiness and loyalty – and extreme reproof to a dwarf.

Legolas waited just inside the doorway as Dis strode up to the table and stood directly behind the dwarf-councilor to Dain’s left.

She waited without comment.

Dain glanced at her but didn’t say anything.

After several moments the councilor was clearly uncomfortable, shooting looks at both his lord and the dwarves around him, but still not looking behind him at Dis.

The dwarf-queen still didn’t move or say anything. She didn’t tap her feet, or sigh, or drum her fingers on anything.

She waited.

At last her very stillness got to the dwarf. He turned around, cringing, and met her gaze.

Dis didn’t even lift an eyebrow; she stared at him implacably. She knew her pale eyes were as cold as ice. The dwarf looked at Dain, but Dain was staring straight ahead of him, and the other councilors were studiously avoiding his gaze. The dwarf visibly swallowed and hastily got up. “May I offer you my seat, Lady Dis,” he managed to get out, his gruff voice clearly showing his discomfort. 

Dis sat down and fixed her gaze now on Dain.

The other dwarf wavered for a moment in indecision, but then went off to the next room to get another chair.

Dain finally turned and met her glance; there was grudging amusement in it. Dis’ own look was stern. “Shall we go over the terms of payment towards both Dale and Mirkwood,   
Lord Dain?” It was not really a question. “After all, those were Thorin Oakenshield’s final decrees, and they should be honored as soon as possible."

Dain nodded after a moment.

“I am leaving you in complete control of Erebor in my absence,” Dis continued, ignoring the suddenly surly glances of Dain’s councilors, “but Alof shall be joining this Council in my place, and anyone she deems fit. Fandril will be returning to the Blue Mountains and taking over as Lord under my name.”

Dain cleared his throat. “And how many dwarves from the Blue Mountains are staying here.”

“Around two and a half thousand.” Her look clearly told him he would have to learn, as she did, how to command respect among a dwarven population where a significant portion of them refused to submit to his authority. 

She leaned closer to him. Sotto voce she said, “May Mahal bless your endeavors.”

Dain was sure there was sarcasm beneath those words.

&……&……&……&……&……&

Aragorn caught up with the silver-haired elf-prince the morning after the Funeral of Thorin Oakenshield.

“Legolas, wait up,” he shouted, panting as he jogged after the other. “Where are you off too?”

The elf-prince’s eyes looked at him with disfavor. “Ellie’s taken a turn guarding Lady Dis. I am off to pack.”

Estel waved a hand. “Already did that,” he informed Legolas, who grimaced a bit at the young human need to state superfluous information. “Anyway,” the young man continued, “I just wanted to know why you didn’t come sparring with El, Ro and I the other day.” He seemed a bit hesitant as he continued. “I thought, maybe you would have liked it.”

“I was otherwise engaged,” Legolas said shortly.

Aragorn pondered this for a bit. “Oh. Alright.” He bit his lip and then brightened up. “So…..you want to spar today then?” He darted in front of the prince, causing Legolas to come to an abrupt halt; distinctly ungraceful.

Legolas glared.

“I’m busy today too,” he got out through gritted teeth. 

“Well…….we could always postpone it until we’re on the road, but then you won’t get to see what my brothers can do. Of course, they’re both not as good as me, but they’ve got some good points, and……”

Seriously, this human could not take a hint.

Legolas cut him off. “You seem to be under the mistaken apprehension that we are friends, or that we will become friends,” he said, coldly. “We are not friends, and we will not be. We will be travelling together and that is all; I because it is what Tauriel would have wanted, and because I owe it to Thorin Oakenshield and you, because I know not what reason. Maybe your father wanted you to gain some wisdom. But I am not your friend. The woman, Ellie, may prove useful in a fight, and Lady Dis looks like she can take care of herself for the most part, but you seem as though you will only be a burden. I will not be responsible for your life, so kindly stay out of my way.”

And with those words, Legolas stepped around the flabbergasted Aragorn, and continued on his way down the hall.

When he had disappeared from sight, Elladan and Elrohir detached themselves from the shadows and joined their brother. They had noticed the elf-prince’s distance with both his own kin, and attempts to avoid Aragorn, and were not surprised by his reaction, although Elladan still looked indignant on his brother’s behalf.

Elrohir had a more thoughtful look on his face.

“Just stay away from the bastard,” Elladan advised Estel

Elrohir nodded, “Yes, I agree, but be gentle, Estel. For all his harsh words, I think Ada would say that he is suffering. He has lost a close friend – his only friend from what I’ve heard – and been estranged from his father and his kin. That is not an easy thing to bear.”

Elladan too now looked contemplative. “And he lost everyone he’d set out to protect during the Battle of the Five Armies. For a warrior as renowned as Legolas Greenleaf, that must be extremely hard to deal with.”

“But he didn’t even like Thorin Oakenshield,” Aragorn protested, confused.

“Didn’t he?” Elrohir wondered.

&……&……&……&……&……&

The day was crisp and clear when they started out two days later.

Dwalin and Balin were there to see them off. Estel, Legolas and Ellie didn’t look back as they left the dwarven road behind and climbed up into the hills to the south, but at the top of the tallest one, Dis did.

There stood Erebor, gleaming in the sunlight, its snowcapped peak piercing the clouds as the sounds of dwarven workers pounded in the deeps. Small figures of men and dwarves darted about, moving steadily between Dale and Erebor and there was much merriment and even some stopping for conversation between the two groups.

Dis smiled, and it was bittersweet; Thorin would have been proud. 

Resolutely, she turned back towards her chosen path and hurried after her companions.

&……&……&……&……&……&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We're in! We're off!" as Bofur would say. So, I realized that I forgot to do Thorin’s Funeral – which I’m really, really hoping is on the Extended Edition DVD btw – and decided that some more interpersonal dynamics had to be set up. Dis seems to be winning the battle for Erebor, but now she’s leaving and so the playing field’s wide open for Dain to improve. According to Dain at least haha. As always, let me know what you think, and thank you for reading! Oh, and anyone else excited to see Richard Armitage as the Red Dragon on Hannibal?


	7. The Adventure Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: As ever, I don’t own anything about Middle Earth. Dis gets a moment to be queen to her people, and charges into battle, and Legolas makes it quite clear that he doesn’t like Aragorn.

&……&……&……&……&……&

The lands directly to the south of Erebor were as barren and bleak as Estel was expecting. Nothing grows around the lair of a dragon, his father had always told him, and Estel could now see for himself the validity of these words. But he could see little signs of life, even with the hold that winter now had. There were a number of birds, tiny pine trees peak up through the thin layer of snow on the ground, and occasionally moles and prairie-dogs would peak up from their abodes under the earth.

The four companions were strung out in a line across the hilly, sloping terrain, keeping the Mountain directly behind them. A brisk, cold wind blew down from the north, chapping Estel’s lips and making his nose run. The haughty elf-prince, Legolas, looked to be entirely unbothered by the cold, his dull-colored tunic – adorned with silver clasps though it was – all that kept him warm. He hadn’t even brought a cloak. 

Estel himself was heavily burned by his sword, a heavy shield his father had made him take, a thick, fur cloak, warm boots, gloves, a scarf, and a heavy backpack which had all manner of things it in from cooking gear, to ropes, to extra clothing. Trudging through the snow, it felt like carrying a boulder on his back.

Directly in front of him was the strange woman, Eliriel. Estel had only had limited dealings with men before. He’d spent several years with the Dunedain, but more often than not he was paired with only one or two at a time. And the Dunedain were an uncommunicative race at the best of times. Tall, grim-faced and keen-eyed, the Dunedain rangers prowled the wilderness, always on the hunt for evil. They seemed a cursed and forsaken race, and Estel had not grown close to them, always returning to his father’s house in the Hidden Valley.

The men and women he had encountered in Bree and the other northern villages were loud, dirty, smelly and uncultured. He had passed through quickly, buying supplies when needed, and had not lingered to make the acquaintance of any of them. They seemed a lower race, with none of the strength of the Dunedain – his own people he reluctantly acknowledged – or the endurance and valor of elves and dwarves.

The men of Dale had seemed much like the men of Bree, only slightly more advanced. He had thought Lady Sigrid very fair for her race, but she did not hold a candle to the beauty of the Lady Arwen – Evenstar of the Elves.

The woman in front of him, short, plain-faced and mostly silent, seemed to him just another mortal. He did not know why she had come on this journey, although he reluctantly admitted she possessed some skill with a blade. She seemed short, with a paler that seemed to denote sickness and weakness.

In all the stories Estel had ever read or heard in the House of Elrond, there was the weakness of men in them. He did not believe that this Eliriel would prove any different, especially since she did not have even the blessing of the Valar that the Dunedain did. She would only be a burden.

In front of the woman, at the head of their little band, was the dwarf-queen, Dis, daughter of Thrain. This female interested Estel. Her long, silver-shot dark hair was braided and bound up in rings with her crest upon them. She carried a sword and an axe on her back, and a coat edged in fur. Her tunic was of thick leather, which would serve as limited armor in a fight but prove to be much less heavy during their journey, and her dark gaze continuously scanned the horizon for threats. Occasionally she would turn around and shot something back to Eliriel in dwarvish, but for the first couple of days there was almost no communication between the man, the woman, the dwarf and the elf.

When they stopped in the evenings it was always Eliriel who did the cooking. Legolas would often come back with small game and the stews the brown-haired woman made were surprisingly tasty. Without comment she would always make two, one smaller than the other and containing no meat for Estel, who – in keeping with the traditions of the High and Sindarin Elves – avoided the killing of animals. Silvan elves had no qualms about hunting game and Legolas and his father – for all their Sindarin blood – were Silvan at heart.  
Dis always took the first watch and Ellie always took the last. They let Estel sleep and Legolas took the middle of the night. He needed less sleep than the rest of them, and always liked looking at the stars. Or so Estel suspected.

It was on the fifth night out that Estel realized Eliriel had trouble sleeping. He himself usually nodded off right away and didn’t wake until the bright rays of the sun touched his face the next day, but this night he’d had to pee. He’d opened his eyes and contemplated leaving the warmth of his bedroll when he spotted the elf-prince’s bright silver hair in the moonlight. Legolas was standing motionless at the edge of their camp, his back to them, as he surveyed the landscape. Without turning he spoke, and Estel almost had a heart attack until he realized that the prince spoke to Eliriel and not him.

“You do not sleep as much as your mortal body needs.”

Eliriel was several feet away from Estel, lying on her side and faced away from the young man. She spoke without moving. “Is that your way of asking why I can’t sleep?” Her tone was antagonistic.

“It’s my way of asking what you dream of that allows you no rest.”

Legolas still didn’t turn around. Nor did he say anything else. After a minute, where the only sound was the moaning of the winter wind and Estel’s own quiet breaths, Eliriel stood up and moved to stand next to the elf-prince. Her arms were folded protectively over her chest and her long, unbound hair whipped in the breeze.

Estel still had to pee, but he held his breath and listened as hard as he could; this was becoming interesting.

“I dream of fire,” Eliriel said at last, sullenly, obviously annoyed at herself for speaking at all.

Estel watched Legolas shoot her a quick look of surprise, an involuntary reaction. Then the elf spoke louder. “If you have business to attend to Aragorn, I suggest you do so.”

Estel blanched and hurriedly got up, peeling blankets off himself. “I wasn’t eavesdropping,” he muttered, despite all evidence to the contrary. He noticed that Ellie had gone stiff and was keeping her back to him. Quickly he took off for a secluded spot and the wind whisked any further words of theirs away.

Legolas and Ellie waited until Aragorn had vanished behind a nearby hill. Then the woman turned to the elf-prince.

“Well that was awkward.”

“He doesn’t like you,” the elf-prince observed.

“And you don’t like him,” Ellie countered instantly.

“He’s young; untried and untested.”

“Yes, but you think that about almost all mortals, am I right? You don’t want to get close to Aragorn, specifically, so you’re pushing him away. Why?” she probed. She looked at   
Legolas intently as though she could divine the answer just from his visage.

“I am not pushing him away, I just don’t want to get to know him. Humans are…..incredibly brief.”

Ellie turned away again and looked out over the moonlit, snow-covered hills. “You have no problem getting to know me,” she murmured. “And I am much briefer than he.” She hesitated, and then obviously decided to go with her previous thought. “Estel……does remind me of a very young Thorin. At times.” When Legolas didn’t say anything, but she could almost feel his sudden anger, she knew she was on the right track. “Far less sorrow and suffering, but that same spirit – noble and stalwart. You can see it, even as young as he is. Yes?” It wasn’t really a question. She continued. “Dark hair, blue eyes, royal bearing; a king exiled from his throne, wandering the wilderness and doing menial tasks. Did you know that I heard from some of the Elves in Elrond’s house that the men in the villages to the west call Aragorn, ‘Strider’ and mock his long legs and unkempt appearance? They called Thorin……..well, I suppose it doesn’t really matter what they called Thorin anymore.” She clasped her hands together and finished. “The point is, if the Dark Lord knew of his existence he would hunt Estel down like he did Thorin. And you feel like you failed Thorin, and as though you would have liked him had he lived to become King Under the Mountain. So you lost not just your father and your kin and the person you saw as a little sister, but someone who could have been a friend, as well. You don’t want to experience the same thing with Aragorn.”

Legolas gritted his teeth and concentrated on breathing. It was never pleasant to have your own, private, half-formed thoughts and fears brought out in the open and forcing you to confront them. “You’re far too observant for your own good.” It was not a compliment.

Ellie shrugged. She was used to people not liking her.

“You did all you could,” she told him forthrightly. “For all of them. That is all that any of us can do in this world; we do our best and hope our best is enough. You have nothing to atone for, Legolas Greenleaf, although I, in my grief and anger, may have implied differently. For which I apologize.”

Legolas stared at the woman for a while. “You are much more even-tempered than……he was.”

Her smile was bittersweet in its reminiscence. “Sometimes,” she admitted, “although I could be more stubborn than even he. Thorin always had a fire in him, burning and smoldering. I’ve always been more earth than fire. Although I tend to say what’s on my mind more than either Thorin or Dis ever would. I am no royal.”

“And Dis?”

“Dis is water; able to bend and flow and take new shape right under your gaze. You think she’s finished and then she comes right back and bites you in the ass.” Her chuckle was filled with warm glee. “Dain’s going to regret ever attempting to become king under the mountain. Even though she’s not there, he’s not going to be able to do it.”

Legolas couldn’t help the reluctant grin that tugged at his own lips. “Thorin Oakenshield’s sister indeed.”

“The whole family’s full of nutjobs,” Ellie agreed. Her smile faded.

The elven-prince looked at her with keen insight in his turn. “You tell me not to punish myself for what happened, and yet you do the same. You think that if you had been here one of them, at least, might have lived. You tell yourself that a death of fire was not enough, that you should have done more. You are being ridiculous.”

There was a snort at this assessment.

“It is much easier to offer forgiveness to others than to accept it for myself,” Ellie admitted. “I have never learned to forgive myself for failing. And this feels like I failed.”

Legolas nodded and didn’t say anymore. He understood what she felt all too well.

&……&…….&…….&…….&……..&

It was Dis who noticed that something was off around mid-morning the next day. She spotted the raven circling high above them and said several words with Eliriel. As Estel watched the woman exchanged a glance with the elf-prince and then the two of them melted away from him and the dwarf-queen, one to their right and one to their left. Estel moved up to Dis’ side. She had stopped and rested her ax on the ground, leaning on it as her keen eyes scanned the horizon.

“Is something wrong?” Estel asked her, keeping his voice low.

“We’ll find out in a minute,” was the curt reply. 

Estel shifted his weight from foot to foot for a while, but Dis’ exasperated glance forced him to stand still.

After a few moments Eliriel appeared from behind a hill almost a league in front of them. She gave a brief wave and then disappeared again. Dis sighed in relief and continued walking in her sister-in-law’s direction. Estel kept pace with her.

“They’re most likely friendly,” Dis explained as they crunched along. The day was surprisingly fine for a mid-winter one; the sun was warm and bright, and although there was snow, Estel could see it melting slowly under the unexpected heat. “You’re fully grown in the years of men, are you not?” She asked him, after several paces, sounding genuinely curious.

“Yes. For almost ten years now,” Estel answered.

“And yet, you act like someone much younger.” There was no censure in her tone, as Estel was sure there would have been in both Legolas’ and Eliriel’s. Still, he couldn’t help the redness that crept into his cheeks.

“Yes,” he admitted, and then, showing unexpected insight, added,” I think it has something to do with being raised by Elves. They refuse to admit that anyone under 300 is an adult, and my father has always been overprotective.”

Dis thought about the logic of this for a bit. “It must be hard for an Elf to have a human child and to know that no matter what, the life of that child will inevitably pass by much too fast, and that the child’s destiny is forever sundered from the parent’s.”

Estel frowned a bit. “Yes,” he agreed.

“They must seem strange to you. Elves. Even though you have been raised among them. And still you love them.”

“Yes. I have often wished I was one.”

Dis smiled sadly. “Sometimes I think my son did as well.”

Estel shot her a quick, surprised look. “The one who loved the elf-maid?” he asked, and Dis did not fail to notice the sudden excitement in his voice.

“And the one who was loved by the elf-warrior in return.” Dis was watching the young human closely. 

“I can’t say that I understand the attraction myself, but I would have loved to meet her. She must have been extraordinary.”

Estel’s smile was besotted. “I am sure that she was,” he agreed.

Dis fixed the boy-man with a stern look. “Is there something you would like to tell me, Aragorn?”

Estel only blushed.

But Dis would have known that starry-eyed look anywhere, and threw up her hands as she had done numerous times before at the antics of her sons. “What is it with men and dwarves and elf-maids!” she demanded of the world in general.

“Creamy skin and high-cheekbones,” Estel replied instantly, and Dis growled. That was something Kili would have said. She felt the sharp pain in her chest for an instant and then ruthlessly suppressed it.

“And who is the lucky lady?” she asked instead. They had rounded the hill to find Legolas and Eliriel waiting for them at the curve of the next hill. Dis could also here a low rumbling, as of many, deep-throated voices. Ellie was watching her with a strange gleam in her greenish eyes.

“The Lady Arwen,” Estel whispered in her ear. “The most beautiful of all women.”

Dis shot him a surprised glance. Wasn’t she Lord Elrond’s daughter? Estel’s foster-sister? She would have interrogated the boy further about this sudden, slightly-disturbing revelation, but they had reached their companions and Eliriel interrupted.

“My Lady Dis,” she said formerly, waving a hand for Dis to precede her around the hill, “your people await you.”

Estel watched the sudden widening of the dwarf-queen’s eyes, but she stood a little taller, smoothed her features, and then strode out before the others, who hurried to follow in her wake. Around the hill, snow-covered and easily fifty feet tall, was a long column of dwarves. Dwarf-men, women and children, all dressed in heavy winter clothing, mostly shabby, and carrying heavy packs, they were paused before the hill, obviously informed of Dis’ presence by Ellie and Legolas, for when they saw her the mutterings trailed off and they stood there in silence staring at her.

Sunlight gleamed off the silver in Dis’ dark hair. Her stern, proud face was beautiful and commanding. She strode to the front of the crowd and surveyed them in return, a small, welcoming smile on her lips. “I am Dis, sister of Thorin Oakenshield, daughter of Greer and Thrain, who was son of Thror, King Under the Mountain. I am the Last of the Line of Durin.”

Her voice boomed out over the quiet of the winter morning and the waiting dwarves. Estel and Legolas stood to the left of Dis, and Ellie stood to her right. Estel watched as there was a rippling in the ranks of the dwarves, and then, like a retreating wave, row upon row of dwarves bowed to the queen.

The leader of their company stepped forward. “Greetings, Lady Dis,” he said. “We are poor miners from far to the south. Our ancestors fled from the wrath of Smaug almost two centuries ago. Word reached us of the deeds of your brother, and that there was now a place for all dwarves in the Lonely Mountain.”

Dis smiled. “And so there is. I welcome our kin from the south, and I admire your bravery in coming all this way, even in the depths of winter.”

The dwarf’s face was slightly bitter. “There was no place for us in the south anymore, or we would not have attempted such a journey in this weather.”

Dis laid a hand on the dwarf’s arm and waited until he met her clear, forceful gaze. “Then I admire you all the more, and there is a place waiting for you at Erebor. Go now, while you have the light, but take this ring with you.” She twisted it off from her finger. “Give it to my cousin, Dain, and inform him that you come with my blessing, and he will see you well and settled.” She smiled at them all and raised her voice. “You are almost there. May Mahal smile on you, and welcome you to the Halls of our Ancestors.”

A cheer rang up from the weary and broken dwarves and Estel watched as their eyes filled with loyalty to the Lady Dis. It was a strange thing to see, lifeless and hopeless eyes regaining a spark. And all due to the presence, the words, the physical being of Dis. There was a stillness to her, a sense of restrained power and dignity, but also care and affection when she reached out and rested her hand on the cheek of an old dwarf-woman and enquired about her comfort and if she needed help.

He watched as pride in their race and in themselves was re-ignited; maybe only just a little bit, but it was enough. The dwarves picked up their heads and their feet a bit more.   
Many of them turned back for one last look at the queen.

The four companions stood to the side and watched the straggling line of dwarves until they disappeared on the horizon.

Only when they were gone did Dis turn away and bid the others to follow.

&…….&…….&…….&…….&…….&

They came within sight of a small, human village on the southern borders of Rhovanion three days later. 

Unfortunately for the inhabitants, mostly farmers and herders, they were under attack by a band of marauding Orcs.

Dis stood in the shadow of a rock half a mile out and watched them with a practiced eye. “Doesn’t seem to be any lookouts or advance scouts.”

“Only about a hundred and fifty orcs as well,” Ellie said, surveying the scene with folded arms. “Looks do-able.”

Estel watched the two women, but didn’t speak. The Dunedain would never have contemplated any all-out attack in broad daylight, across and empty field, with four men. The   
Elves of Rivendell would have had armor and hours and a hundred Elves to match a hundred Orcs. 

Legolas had already drawn his bow. “What are we standing around talking for?” demanded. “Let’s hunt some orc!”

And then he was off, running with elven lightness of foot over the white ground, stringing his bow and firing as he went, picking off orcs on the outskirts of the village.

Dis’ eyes sparked at the challenge. “I’m not about to be out-done by any Elf!” she roared, sprinting after the prince.

Ellie sighed, fitted some knuckle-dusters on her hands, and pulled out a short sword. “You’ve got Legoas,” she snapped at Estel, already running after her sister-in-law. “Make   
sure he doesn’t end up dead!”

The midday sun was directly overhead, bright and warm, as Estel ran, Legolas’ fair hair already nearing the village. Melting snow slushed under his feet and his breath came in sharp gasps and he grabbed air into his lungs and pushed his legs faster. 

Dis had reached the north side of the village, and Legolas was already approaching the south. Half of the buildings were on fire. Screams could be heard from the terrified inhabitants, many of their citizen already lying dead on the ground, their blood spreading in the melting snow and mud around them.

And then, over the screams of civilians, he heard the shouts of Khuzdul as Dis entered the fray, but the other two obviously fought silently, for thought Estel followed the sounds of metal on metal in his pursuit of Legolas, the elven-prince was an otherwise silent killer.

And then Estel entered the village, ducked the swing of the orcish blade aimed at his face, and the battle was on. 

Sweat poured in his eyes, blood splashed – hot and foul-smelling – on his hands and arms, and the Black Speech sounded all around him.

It felt like he cleaved through dozens of orcs, but later realized it could only have been several – the stragglers and those who fled – for Legolas had already passed through and dispatched with most of them. Estel made his way steadily towards the center of town, knowing that that would be where the greatest concentration of orcs would be.

And he was right.

By the time he got there the other three were engaged in battle, swords and daggers slicing through enemies. Some of the townspeople, taking heart, picked up anything near at hand and attempted to help.

Estel saved an elderly man from being decapitated, and in return, a few seconds later, the man walloped the back of an orc’s head with a shovel; an orc who had been attempted to creep up on Estel’s unprotected side. He noticed, with the quick observational skills drilled into him by a lifetime of living among Elves, that Legolas was a reckless fighter. The elven prince moved with fluidity and grace, swift and deadly, his every blow landing exactly where he intended it to, but he made decisions that Estel found…….slightly unsettling.  
Legolas jumped into enemies where he was entirely surrounded, again and again. He was utterly heedless of attack by bow and arrow from orcs in any of the surrounding windows. He hesitated too long after sticking his blade into an orc. And he fought as a one-man army, utterly out of sync with Dis, Eliriel and Estel himself.

Too late Estel noticed a bow trained on the elf-prince from an orc archer lurking in one of the side allies. Before he had time to shout or reach Legolas, the arrow was loosed and Estel could only watch in horror as it………..

…………impacted into the shield Ellie held up, right before Legolas’ back.

She frowned at him across the heaving commotion, but seemed more contemplative than angry. Estel was unwillingly impressed with how fast she had moved, and her situational awareness, but such grudging respect only caused him to dislike her all the greater. Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve got this. Watch out for Dis,” she said, placing her back to Legolas’.  
Estel moved over to the dwarf-queen, who was cleaving through enemies with some enjoyment, but he noticed that Legolas was aware of Ellie’s presence, and silently altered his fighting pattern to include her.

The battle of was over several minutes later. Ellie vanished to mop up any stragglers, and to patrol the surroundings for those orcs who had fled, leaving Dis to take charge of the decimated village-folk. There was little any of them could do except lend a hand. 

The village leader was dead, but his wife took over, sending out the healthy to pick up the wounded and escort them back to the town-hall, where medicines – such as these humans had – were scrounged and all attempts were made to save those who were injured.

It was several hours later that Dis, Legolas and Estel stepped out from the villagers and took a breather. There was a numbness in Estel’s brain, a sort of feeling of unreality, at all the death and pain he had witness today. He tried to fight through it, but knew that he looked a little greener than usual, for Dis started talking about something inconsequential. Legolas would answer her every now and then with monosyllables, but she did not seem deterred. She unpacked some food for all three of them, absently wondered where Ellie   
had got to, and then, noticing that Aragorn’s color had improved, made a light remark.

“I bet your elf-beloved would have been able to heal these people much faster than any of us could, what with her being Elrond’s daughter and all. You should have brought her along.”

Although Dis was teasing and Estel blushed – which turned out puce do to his odd coloring to begin with, and therefore looked slightly gross – Legolas froze. The elf-prince slowly unfolded his arms and looked from Dis to Estel and back again.

“Lord Elrond’s daughter?” he asked, blankly. “The descendant of Luthien, of whom it is said that her beauty has come again?” But it wasn’t really a question. Dis and Estel were silent, studying the elf-prince as his cold, blue eyes narrowed and positively glittered.

And then the prince all but hissed. “Do you mean to tell me that this……this……this…..” he stepped forward and jabbed a finger viciously into Estel, “mortal,” he finally got out, “is in love with an elf too?!”

“Legolas,” Dis said, in warning, subtly angling herself in Estel’s direction in a protective motion.

The elf paid her no mind. He looked like he was restraining himself from inflicting grievous bodily harm on Aragorn only through sheer force of will. His body was fairly thrumming with rage. “Haven’t you done enough,” he hissed. “Haven’t you all done enough!”

“Legolas!” Dis snapped, and something in her tone seemed to get through to him, for he fixed Estel with a gaze of absolute hate, but stepped back.

“You stay away from me,” he hissed once more. And then he vanished in the shadows of the buildings. The setting sun, red and slowly cooling, shown upon two pale faces as Dis and Estel looked at each other.

Dis rested a hand on the young man’s arm, silently asking if he was alright.

“What just happened?” Estel asked the world in general. 

&……&……&……&……&……&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endnote: As ever, please let me know what you think! Good or bad. Of course, hoping for good. Insecure author here, but all reviews are welcome. Always


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